The Lies They Tell Us
by thesolitary-dragon
Summary: When Summer's new boyfriend asks her to leave School of Rock to manage his band, she's torn between the decision and finds herself questioning the extent of her relationship and necessity with the band.
1. First Impressions Are the Most Important

A/N: I'm really sorry to my readers, for some unapparent reason my story was taken down for "nonstory" elements. Oddly enough, it wasn't breaking any of the rules that would get it taken down, which ticks me off. So...oh well...I've chosen to repost it. Here it is...again...

ENJOY!

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Chapter 1: First Impressions Are The Most Important

Summer all but skipped up the steps to the studio apartment, where the School of Rock band held their practices. "I have a date," she breathed giddily, "I have a date. I have a date." The more she said it, the more unbelievable it became. "_I_, Summer Hathaway, have a date." She paused outside the apartment, already hearing the banging of drums, the plucking of strings, the soft tenor and booming baritones of the band well underway of their rehearsal.

It came back like a flash, heating across Summer's dark almond eyes. He was in the same English class as her. Popular, athletic, handsome. All the girls wanted to date him. He was the second highest honor student in the school, under Summer of course, brilliantly intelligent and wildly charismatic to match. Kyle Emerson, from a prestigious family, on his way to Harvard Prep. Summer smiled despite herself. Her mother would be proud. He was the piece that would make her almost perfect daughter whole.

Summer recalled how Kyle had sauntered up to her, a wily smile already in place. They'd talked over the course of the past several weeks, and, admittedly, she was crushing on him in a huge way. But Summer, being the practical girl she was, would never pursue a boy. No, never. She would never indulge herself in the idea that Mister Perfect Kyle Emerson, or any other boy for that matter, could find her attractive. Right? And she had studies, she'd always excuse, when boys didn't ask her to the dance, or overlooked her in the hall. She had more important things to do. Boys were afraid of her steady ambition, straightforward determination. They were intimidated by her, that was it. So it's no surprise she wasn't expecting much from Kyle when he approached her after English, even as her heart hitched half-way to her throat. No sir, she wouldn't have - in a million years, even - suspected those words to spill from Kyle's beautiful, and ominously perfectly shaped mouth. _Summer, will you honor me with an outing this Friday afternoon_. She flustered at the properness and formality of his invite.

A 'yes' just barely choked its way from Summer's mouth. And the rest of the day she sat smiling like the Mona Lisa, a secret pursed between her lips. And much to the following teachers' surprises, she failed to raise her hand in the entirety of the rest of the day. She, Summer Hathaway, overtly organized, little-miss-know-it-all, Tinkerbell, straight-laced, goody-two-shoes, band manager, had a date.

Of course, being a sixteen year old girl, one would have expected Summer to have had a first date already. She was attractive, after all. Straight black hair, kept neatly trimmed shoulder-length, full red lips, thin yet well rounded form, a slight pink tinge dabbled against her cheeks in contrast to her soft white skin. She hadn't filled out like some of the other band members, the voluptuous Tomika, or the cat-walk-modelesque Katie. She rarely wore make-up, a little lip gloss when she was crushing on a boy, and her hair was usually splayed un-fancily across her shoulders. She was prim and proper, in her stockings, pleated skirt, soft blouse and matching blazer. And she wasn't exactly shy or soft spoken.

With a dramatic sigh, Summer brushed a loose strand of hair neatly behind her ear before pushing the apartment door open with a hefty shove and walking in with an air of importance. A few children glanced up, gathered around Ned as he taught them the F chord on an electric guitar, but no one else really paid heed to her entrance and she was used to it. She crossed the room to the kitchen counter, placing her bag atop it and rummaging through for her binder and personal organizer. She flipped the bag upside down, panicking, tearing out books and notebooks and loose papers before groaning exaggeratedly and dropping her now empty pack to the floor. She swept her hair up in one brush of her hand, flipping it over her shoulders and frowned, looking up. The music had stopped and everyone in the room was now well aware of her arrival.

Zack stood in awe, his fingers still compressing the G-minor chord. Katie had released her bass, letting it hang by its straps off her shoulders. Lawrence stood poised at the keyboard, a single C-note fading into silence. The backup singers; Marta, Tomika, and Alicia were paused mid-song, mouths dangling open. Dewey had an eyebrow arched, his lip curled up in a mockery of a smirk, and Freddy was gapping at Summer, drumsticks resting on one shoulder.

"What?" she questioned. Then, taking a deep breath, "I forgot my band stuff in my locker at school."

"You-" Katie began.

"-forgot-" Zack stammered.

"_You _forgot something?" Freddy interrupted, already breaking into laughter, "I thought you had every minute planned out for each day for the rest of your life." Summer pouted. That wasn't entirely true. Only for the week. Katie leaned back, slapping Freddy upside the head. He frowned, shooting her a dark scowl while rubbing the sore spot. The other band members broke into awkward chuckles. Summer smiled absently, lifting her pack up and shoving everything back in.

"It's alright. I'll go back to the school and pick them up," she said, slinking the still open pack over her shoulder and heading towards the door.

"Uh…Summer," Zack stepped forward, "The school's locked up and closed down by now."

"Oh," Summer murmured. She turned back, a bright smile still on her face, determined not to let this little ditzy moment overshadow her morning glory. "That's alright." she glanced at the clock, "Shouldn't you guys be practicing?" There was uncomfortable shuffling resounding from the room, grunts of "oh yeah's", and "only her's…"

"Okay gang, from the top, let's try a little Zeplin," Dewey grinned devilishly, "Count me out, Freddy! Back me up, Zack! Katie, do your thing girl…"

Summer crossed the room, plopping on the forlorn and overly worn couch beside Michelle and Eleni. They glanced at her momentarily, trying to decide if they should say anything, before resuming what they had been working on. The music started up again, but it didn't sound as joyful and welcoming as it had when Summer had first arrived. She'd forgotten all her managerial duties in one fell swoop of attention from an, albeit, fairly attractive young man. What if things got serious between Kyle and herself? She felt the blood flow to her cheeks and forehead in a mad rush, turning her face a bright red. She lowered her head, hair falling into her face. Embarrassed. Jumping ahead now, aren't we, she questioned herself silently. Her heart thudded erratically against her chest. What if things didn't get serious between Kyle and her? What if it was their first and last date? Subconsciously, she buried her face in her lap. She would be crushed.

A warm hand touched Summer's shoulder and she all but leapt three feet in the air, nearly colliding with Katie's head. She smiled sheepishly, shyly pushing her mussed hair behind her ears and looking downcast. She hadn't even noticed that the music had stopped again.

"What's up, Katie? This, hovering over me, is not rehearsing," Summer attempted, trying to sound as strict and focused as every other day. But this wasn't every other day, now was it?

"I was just wondering if you were alright," Katie scoffed, "But if I knew I should have been aware of verbal whiplash in reply to -what I thought - was a kind gesture…"

"Sorry," Summer immediately blurted out.

"You're just acting strange," Katie pointed out, what was already apparently obvious to Summer and everyone else in the room, "You forgetting all your papers for the band is one thing, but you look kind of feverish…are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine," Summer exclaimed, clasping her hands in her lap, and grinning despite herself and everyone in the rooms startle, "I'm better than fine, actually. I know I've been acting weird today, but then, it's not everyday Kyle Emerson asks me out on a date." She felt her voice hitch into a squeal at the last part.

"Kyle…_Kyle_, Kyle?" Katie gasped, falling to her knees, her bass making a horribly harmonic clamor as it slammed softly to the ground, "Kyle '_the hunk_' Emerson asked you on a date!" At once, the girls flooded around Summer, all screaming and chattering as a whole. The boys stood back, amazed, shocked, silent, pale, and scared witless.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…" Marta was chanting.

"He is _so _hot," Alicia exclaimed.

"Details, girl, details," Tomika pressed in.

"You are so lucky, Summer," Michelle added.

"What's so great about Kyle?" Freddy questioned the empty air, where the boys all stood in a flock of fright and confusion.

"Got me," Zack shrugged.

"He plays basketball," Marco supplied, "I guess he's kind of cool."

"And he likes rock," Gordie put in, "He commented on how he liked my Queen desktop the other day."

"But why would he ask Summer, of all people, out on a date?" Freddy persisted, speaking a little _too _loudly. The girls all fell silent, reeling on the suddenly a shade paler blonde with darkened over glares. "What I say?" he whispered to the other guys, who, as a one, backed away from him.

"Why _wouldn't _he ask Summer out on a date?" Katie demanded, stepping forward to don the role of the girls' ringleader, hands firmly placed on her hips, balled into fists. "Yeah!" the girls roared, Summer pressed into the couch beet red, a head rush of feelings flood gating her mind. _Why would Kyle ask her out on a date?_

Shut up, Summer told herself, you're confident, stay confident. Don't let a wisecracking boy's slipup comment take that away. You deserve this date with Kyle. In fact, Summer realized, you should be surprised, even a little appalled, that Kyle waited so long to ask you. And you should be mad, Summer commanded herself, you should be sky high mad at anyone who would question your deserving of this date.

"I don't know," Freddy attempted to explain himself, softly tapping the drum in front of him with his stick, "Because Summer is…well…she's….Summer."

"Real clever, oh great voice of reason," Summer snapped, on her feet in a bolt of energy. She grinned winningly over at the boys, cowering behind Freddy, offering him up as sacrifice to the easily scariest member of the band, although the smallest, "What's the matter? Jealous you didn't think to ask me first? Or jealous that he, out of all of you, has the balls to ask me out?"

"Not that we'd want to," Freddy muttered, and Summer felt a few vile words bubble up from her belly, prickling along the tonsils in the back of her throat. Composure, she directed herself, breathe, exude confidence. They can't hurt you if you hurt them first.

"Please don't speak for us as a whole," Marco whispered hurriedly to Freddy, seeing the contortion of frustration and anger cross over the usually dignified expression of the band's manager.

"Take it back, take it back, take it back," Zack hissed insistently under his hand to Freddy. Of course, from the drummer's stubborn expression and Summer's fiery eyes, everyone in the room knew a take back was not going to happen and would have little to no effect anyways.

"Of course you wouldn't _want _to," Summer strummed casually, strutting forward leisurely, "Especially not you, right, Freddy Jones? Because you know, that I would turn you down so fast, you're head would still be spinning." Freddy scowled at her, as she tapped one of his cymbals. It clanged, unmelodious and hollow. "And simply because you think," Summer continued, paused, placed a finger over her mouth and smiled mischievously, "Of course, you really don't think often, do you?" The girls let out a satisfied "oh". "But you do feel," Summer went on, after a momentary pause for the others in the room to digest the insult, "That you have some form of wit and that, in some way, you're God's gift to the female population. I hate to bring you down from that thought but -"

"Oh wait," Freddy spoke up, suddenly finding his voice, mock pleasantness. He stood, crossing around the drums to stand in front of, or more precisely, tower over Summer as he spoke, "I remember who Kyle Emerson is. Tall, jock, brown hair, right? I think he's in my math class," Summer pursed her lips. Freddy's own curled up, a half-smirk, "He's a real bastard. You two will make a perfect couple."

"And how is that?" Summer snarled, regretting it as soon as it spilled from her lips. She was playing right into his hands.

"'Cause you're a real bitch," Freddy spat, turning back towards his drums. Everybody held their breath, waiting for an explosion that didn't have a chance to come, "Hey, Summer."

"What?" Summer seethed through gritted teeth.

"If all your papers are at school, all your managering stuff," Freddy went on, taking a seat back on his stool, and spinning slightly.

"_Yes_," Summer pressed, impatiently, arms crossed over her chest, foot tapping.

"Aren't you kind of useless to us, right now?" he turned, looking at her with bright, cheerful, clean eyes, a full-blown, impish-like smirk playing across his entire face. Summer jutted her chin out, before shooting forward and snatching the drumsticks from the surprised boys hands. She crossed over to the window before anyone could make a move to stop her, flinging it open and holding the sticks out threateningly.

"If I hurl these to oblivion, aren't _you _kind of useless to us?" she shot back, looking over her shoulder triumphantly. Freddy had jumped from his seat, a deer caught between a car's headlights. Wanting to edge forward and grab his precious drumsticks back, afraid to move for fear she'd throw them. The other band members were etched forward, leaning, awning. A passerby could hear the creak and ache of their stillness, like the hallow shelves of a deserted library. Some had hands outstretched forward, some had their mouths hanging in limp gasps, horrified, immobile, at a dead standstill.

"Okay, kids," Dewey announced, clapping his hands together to remind the gapping teenagers that he was still present, "This was amusing and all, but I think things have gotten a little out of hand. Summer, if you could…"

"If I could what?" Summer snapped, turning to look at Dewey with a deathly glint in her eye. Dewey popped his mouth.

"Um…remember the music, Summer," Dewey tried, taking slow steps forward towards the obviously outraged manager. He hadn't realized how maniacal she had gotten in those past minutes, "It's about the music…now be a good girl, and give Freddy his drumsticks back."

"Did you not hear what he just said to me?"

Dewey straightened, scratching his five o'clock shadow chin.

"No, not really."

"Ugh," Summer groaned, tossing the sticks on the floor, "I wasn't going to throw them out the window," she daintily informed the stunned group. Freddy rushed forward, kneeling to pick up his sticks, bringing them to him protectively and shooting Summer a dangerous glower, "I mean, honestly, would I endanger those people down there? And, not to mention, all the laws I'd be breaking…" She shook her head, marching towards the door and grabbing her pack, "If I'm really so useless right now," she continued, shooting a meaningful glare Freddy's direction, "Then I'll be leaving." As she turned she heard the sound of a slap against soft flesh and bone.

"Ow, Katie, what the hell was _that _for?" Freddy moaned and Summer slammed the door as she left. She heard the music start up again, as the band resumed practice. Never had the sound hurt so much.

0-0-

Summer pounded on the apartment door one last time, before resigning herself into a muddled lump on the ground. She cradled her chin in the palm of her hand, sighing deeply. How could she storm out of the room and completely forget to grab her math book? What was with her those days? She didn't forget anything! Forget was not in her vocabulary.

Band practice had ended hours ago, while Summer had spent the afternoon fuming, taking her anger out on a particularly undeserving light pole, and smarting her foot in the process. When she decided to put her anger induced adrenaline rush to good use, namely homework, it was then that she discovered her missing text. She'd raced back to the apartment, only to discover Dewey's car missing - he was probably out on a drinking binge…or god forbid, a date - as well as Ned's. She had homework to do.

For not the first time that afternoon, Summer wondered what had come over her. She'd been mad before, enraged, livid even. But in that moment, _you're kind of useless to us_, the blood had shot through her veins like pure crack cocaine, and she snapped. She'd assured the others that she didn't have any plans, whatsoever, to toss Freddy's beloved drumsticks - they were a dime a dozen, she might of added - but in her heart, she knew she wasn't sure if that was true. For a fleeting moment, she'd almost had them flung out the window, a last desperate attempt to salvage her sanity had been the only thing keeping those slim rods in her delicate fingers, keeping her from hurling them with all her strength to the earth below, imagining it was the drummer himself falling to the gray desolate cement. She shuddered at the morbid thought. Or the morbid reminder of the even more morbid thought. Freddy was deserving of many things, Summer thought decisively, a cruel murderous death like that - even if it was in her fantasies alone - was not one of them.

Homework. Summer curled her legs up under her chin, paying no notice to the fact she was still wearing her school uniform, and more precisely, the pleated skirt, which didn't fall well around her body in her current sitting position. She couldn't fall behind in her studies. She needed that book, as much as -no, more than she needed air to breath and water to drink. If she missed a homework assignment, even one meaningless blip in her already 112 grade…she just couldn't.

Everything had gone to hell. Why did Kyle have to pay attention to Summer? Why? Why did he have to treat her like a girl, and what's more, an attractive and desired, lusted after girl? He was making her head all afloat. A head rush of insanity, a spiral of uncertainty. She had wandered around the halls, at lunch, not sure what she was supposed to do. Her daily organizer tucked neatly under her arm. In the very morning, when she'd first woken up, she had known what she was doing that day. She had known that at lunch she would be putting extra work into her History and Science projects after a quick bite of her healthy whole-grain bar. That morning she'd known that band practice was after school and she most definitely needed to grab her dark black binder, littered with stickers glittering with the names of various Rock n' Roll bands, and that slightly larger personal organizer than her daily one, leather bound and her clipboard. And that morning she'd known that she needed to hold tight to her texts, and homework assignments, and various projects, and everything to her body as though it were glued to her altogether.

And then Kyle came. And that afternoon, she knew nothing.

Summer was at a loss, feeling tears working their way at streaming helplessly down her cheeks. She could call Katie, she reasoned, and ask for the problems over the phone. Or Zack, good ol' reliable Zack. Or Lawrence, always armed with his armada of school work. Or even Freddy, who's current use of his math text was either a coaster or food tray. But none of those reasonable thoughts seemed logical. And none of them rang louder than the fact, and a grave fact it was, that Summer had failed herself. She'd failed to do everything as planned. Hell. Her plans had failed. She had forgotten, and no amount of logic could erase that.

Like a ray of hope, or more a trumpet of faith, a slight clinking came from within the apartment. Summer was on her feet at once, turning to the door, poised, a squirrel, tail erect. There it was again. Most distinguishably, the sound of someone clamoring on a cymbal, or was that the beat of a snare drum? She waited for everything to be silent once more, before lifting her fist and pounding like mad on the heavy wood door.

"Oh please, oh please, open up," she begged of whoever sat in that supposed-to-be unoccupied room. She continued banging, feeling a sob choke her throat. You can't get worked up, she told herself, don't let this bother you, they'll answer. Of course, she didn't realize when the door was suddenly gone, and her fist flailed forward uselessly through the empty air, only to be caught by a startled figure.

"Forget something?" the cheeky question was so ironic, Summer had to scowl. This was not making her day any better.

"I am not here to exchange friendly banter, Mister Jones, I merely for- left my book behind and was late coming to retrieve it," Summer explained, puffing out her chest in the most authoritative manner she could muster, sticking her chin out and shoving her way forward, "And don't expect me to apologize for the events earlier today, unless you have one to give to me."

Freddy stood, obviously, gapping at Summer in stun. He couldn't quite figure out how she did that. How she made one minute of lonely bliss turn into a heated debate alongside a jabbing, itchy, insult. She walked in and he could have sworn the temperature rose almost thirty degrees, and he was flustered. Five seconds, it was a new record, he was sure of it. It only took her five seconds to annoy him to no end.

Summer situated herself in the middle of the apartment, glancing around for the math book. She saw no sign of it. With a flurry of short breaths, and an unaccountable hiccup, she realized a dreadful fact. She hadn't been carrying the math book when she entered the apartment for the first time that afternoon. She hadn't gotten her text. It was at school. With everything else she'd known she'd needed at some point in time when the world wasn't hanging upside down above her head. She saw, no, more sensed Freddy shift, shutting the door and heading back to his drums. He took a seat on the stool, then decided he wanted to stand, then looked uncertain a moment, before choosing to make his way over to the couch and slump down on it.

"Did you get the book you forgot, yet?" he asked, and Summer narrowed her eyes at him.

"I told you, I didn't forget it," Summer spat, then softening her tone, she grumbled, "I didn't bring it with me." Freddy perked at this, looking at her with interest.

"So then, what are you doing here?"

"What are _you _doing here?" Summer shot back. He gulped, shrugging and fidgeting slightly. She smirked. She'd got him. She'd caught him off guard.

"Practicing the drums," he explained in a low key manner that suggested he was lying. Summer opened her mouth, to call him on it, but the solemn expression he wore caused her to clamp it shut. If he said he was practicing the drums, who was she to argue. They were silent a moment.

"I wasn't going to throw them out the window," she stated. It lay on her tongue, dry. Maybe she was trying to convince herself more than him.

"I know," he muttered. And that was that. Summer was convinced, "And I didn't mean what I said…about you, being a bitch."

"I know."

More silence.

A dozen things raced through Summer's mind, but one question blazed in bold black and white in the front of her brain. _Do you really think I'm useless_, she willed herself to ask. Nope. Nothing came out. Dead air. Freddy coughed slightly, awkwardly. His hand coming to cover his mouth. Summer straightened her skirt, tugged it down somewhat, pulled it back up a bit. She considered rolling it up, like other girls at the school did. But she was too prim to hitch up her skirt, and her 'chicken legs', as she called them, weren't something she wanted to show off. She thought about asking Freddy his opinion on the matter. No way, she told herself, not a snowflakes chance in hell are you asking Freddy his advice on your fashion. The subject still hung in the air for a conversation piece.

Summer cleared her throat, and the words spilled out, "Is it really so strange, so far-fetched, a boy asking me out on a date?"

Freddy straightened, brow furrowed, lips scrunched at the odd inquiry. He shifted, slouched, smoothed out the wrinkles in his shirt. Found nothing to say. No snide or rude or clever comeback. No straightforward answer. Nothing. He opened his mouth, closed it. Felt stupid under Summer's scrutinizing stare, so returned it with one of his own.

"No and yes," he finally answered.

"It can't be both," Summer retorted, now lacing her arms within one another, and following the great line that was the peak of her profiled nose to look down at him.

"It can," Freddy said, smugly, "Because I said it is. When's your date, fairy queen?"

"None of your business, spazhoid."

"I _try _to be nice…"

"Save it for the academy awards, Frederick. I'm not buying," Summer spat, edging towards the door, but held firmly in place by some odd unexplainable conviction.

In truth, Summer was scared. She was scared of the idea of her dating. It was weird. She knew it. If not for anyone else, then simply herself. She didn't know what was supposed to happen on a date. She didn't know what she was supposed to do, say, look like, act like. When was the appropriate time to smile, to laugh, to be serious or romantic? What happened on dates?

And here was Freddy. It was no secret he dated. Often and varyingly. He never dated the same girl twice. And surprisingly, not a single girl hated him for this. They still greeted him in the hallways, pined for him at a distance. He could break their hearts a thousand times, and they'd still smile sweetly and flirt with him every chance they had. They would wait by their phones, long hours at night, and when he didn't call they made excuses for him. _He was probably busy. He probably lost my number, he'll ask for it tomorrow. I wasn't cute enough, sweet enough, forward enough, chaste enough. If I'm perfect next time, he'll call._

Summer blushed to think at how far Freddy had possibly gone with a girl. He was the type of boy, after all, who did things simply to prove he could. If to no one else, then for himself. She hated how relaxed he could be. How cool and sophisticated he seemed. And Summer, for all her trying and hard-work, could never pull off the same aura he waltzed around the school halls with.

"You must be looking forward to it," Freddy drawled sarcastically, "I mean, Kyle Emerson is a real…um…experienced guy." Summer flushed.

"W-w-what?"

"Yeah," Freddy continued, examining his drumstick with disinterest, "You may hold hands, or…" he mock gasped, "Even hug." Seeing the disdain for the unwarranted joke cross Summer's face, he broke into laughter, "Ease up. With a little luck, and - uh…heh, some pixie dust, you might get a good-night kiss from the los-uh-er…from Kyle."

"A…what?" Summer cried, flabbergasted. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks little rosy swirls, her mouth hanging open, unhinged.

"A kiss," Freddy repeated, then smiling like a child that had found the last of the Halloween candy tucked securely under his bed, "You _have _been kissed before, right?"

"Of course," Summer stammered, turning her back to him slightly so he couldn't see the contortion of fear, embarrassment, and mortification crossing her soft features. She breathed a soft, "Not. Well, there was that kiss, in first grade, but does that really count? It was a dare and…"

The couch groaned, as Freddy eased back into it. A Cheshire grin fixated across his face. He could have bet ten, no a hundred dollars on that one. Of course, little Miss Summer Hathaway, uptight and prudish had never received a real kiss. It was all more than obvious, just from looking at her cleanly polished patent Mary Jane shoes, crisp pure white stockings, and straight locks of neatly placed hair. No one had ever really kissed her, they'd of left a mark, some dirty smudge, that was obviously not there.

"What'll I do?" Summer whispered, desperation in her voice. Freddy quirked an eyebrow.

"_Do_?"

"He'll know," she strained, turning to face the blonde with searching eyes, "He'll know I've never been kissed, and he'll…oh, he'll…I can't have him thinking it's…that it's…_what if he thinks it's horrible?_"

"Well, what are you gonna do," Freddy replied nonchalantly, shrugged simply, searching the nooks of the couch for the remote control and eyeing the television. He could see Summer's reflection in the black void of the screen, looking at him haplessly.

"I need to practice," Summer announced, and Freddy's jaw dropped.

"Excuse me? What did you just say?"

"I have to practice kissing," Summer repeated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "I mean, you practice the drums so that people don't think you're horrible on stage. I need to practice kissing so that Kyle doesn't think I'm horrible."

"And how do you propose to do that?" Freddy questioned, immediately regretting the words as her eyes, alight with this newfound plan, fell on him, "No. No, no, no, no. Use your hand, Tinkerbell, and have fun. Leave me out of it!"

"You owe me," Summer cried, stamping her foot stubbornly, "And I can't use my hand, it can't tell me if I'm doing good or not! I need someone with experience!"

"I do not owe you, and who says I have experience?"

"You and every girl at school who's met with your experience. And you do so owe me."

"Okay, so, I have experience…but what do I owe you for?"

Summer pursed her lips, before swinging her pack to her side and negotiating the removal of her organizer. She flipped it open, "Math test, April 12th two years ago, the fire alarm emergency May 3rd last year, the Christmas dance fiasco three years ago, physics, English, World History…do you remember those? Remember, 'Summer, I need your help. I can't fail these classes. I'll owe you forever', ring any bells, Frederick."

Freddy groaned, rubbing his forehead painstakingly. Only she would keep track of all of _that _in a personal organizer. Summer tapped her foot impatiently.

"Need I go on?"

"No, no," Freddy muttered, "Okay." He stood, pacing around Summer who tucked away her organizer and stared expectantly up at him. He rounded her with an observant eye, bringing up a thumb to rub his chin. He frowned, nodded.

"What?" Summer demanded.

"It's as I figured."

"What?" Summer pressed, a bit more impatiently.

"You're un-kissable, so this a waste of my time," Freddy grinned, pacing back towards the couch. Summer pouted at his back, and he paused, rolling his eyes upward. He was going to regret this. "Okay," he sighed, turning back to her, "I'll help you this once."

"Good," Summer sighed, scooping her hair up with her hand and brushing it to fall down her back, "What happens first?"

"Now?" Freddy cried, incredulous, "You want to do this _now_?"

"Yes, _now_. When did you think?" Summer clasped her hands behind her back, "My date is Friday. There's not a lot of time in between. We're alone, neither of us has anywhere to go…"

"Okay, okay, fine!"

They were silent, sizing one another up. Staring shyly at the other. Freddy licked his lips, Summer pushed her hair behind her ears. He stepped forward, she stepped back.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I don't know. What do I do?"

"Okay…um…" Freddy searched for something constructive, "What are you gonna do with your hands?"

"My hands?"

"It's crucial, Summer," Freddy cried, "Now, some girls like to put them around the guy's waist, some girls opt for the shoulders. Where are you going to put your hands?" Summer looked thoughtful a moment.

"Should I be taking notes?"

"_Summer_!"

"I guess…where would you suggest?"

Freddy rolled his eyes. She was hopeless. He had to do everything. He took her hands in his own, stepping forward. She took a small step back. He was narrowly aware that the heat had risen to his cheeks, but he was intent on focusing. He brought her hands towards him, surprised how willingly Summer allowed him to maneuver her, and tried them on his waist, but it didn't feel right. He lifted them upwards, her fingers curling around his, almost subconsciously. He tried the shoulders and let them settle, dropping his own arms at his sides. He took another step forward. She took a step back.

"Stop that. We're not dancing," Freddy hissed. She nodded.

"What happens now?"

"I thought you were supposed to be smart," Freddy cried. She said nothing. "This would be the part where we…I mean…you and Kyle would kiss."

"Oh," Summer mumbled. She pressed her lips together, puckering them out, closing her eyes and leaning forward, stepping on her tiptoes to reach Freddy's height. Freddy leaned back from her, staring at her cross eyed and raising an amused eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

Summer let out an exasperated sigh, falling back on the heels of her feet, her hands falling back to her sides. She closed her eyes, feeling particularly stupid and inept at the moment.

"Preparing to be kissed," Summer explained. Freddy rolled his eyes once more.

"You're not supposed to prepare to be kissed," he groaned, "You're supposed to wait for the guy to make the move."

"Why's that? Why can't I make the move? You know very well that…"

"Don't pull out any feminist crap on me right now, Summer. I'm still trying to figure out why I'm actually helping you with this."

"Well then, what happens now?"

"I kiss you…well, Kyle would kiss you."

Summer looked expectantly at him. Freddy groaned.

"You want me to kiss you?"

"Well, how else am I going to practice kissing if I don't actually do any kissing?" Summer demanded shrilly.

Freddy took a deep breath, stepping forward once more. Summer took a step back. He let out a frustrated growl, before slipping his arm around her waist and dragging her forward. She flitted against his body, eyes wide with the shock of their suddenly close proximity. A small circle of heat pressed against Freddy's forehead, bursting like a chaotic firework display and coursing through his veins. This is weird, he noted. He took a calming breath, before leaning forward, and pressing his lips against Summer's.

For a moment, they stood there, lips placidly laid against one another's, eyes squeezed shut. Summer was still and Freddy himself couldn't find the willpower to move. He knew what he should be doing, how a kiss was engaged, initiated and strategically maneuvered. He'd kissed thousands -well, that's an exaggeration, more like dozens of girls. He was proud of the often regaled fact that he was a good kisser, after carefully honing the craft. He knew exactly how to move his mouth, where to push and prod with his tongue, when to move in, when to ease off. But somehow, standing there with his lips plastered to Summer's, it all fled from his brain. He had to go on natural instinct, as though it were his first kiss all over again, finally taking a small step forward, and drawing Summer even more closer to himself, deepening the kiss. He parted his lips slightly, surprised that her own followed, and he could taste her breath.

Summer's hands came up once more, trailing lightly across Freddy's shoulders to curl around his neck. She was on tiptoes, leaning into his chest, her heart fluttering slightly, a butterfly trapped in its cocoon, ready to burst free. Always pondering, always contemplative, she couldn't manage to focus on anything. She didn't know what to do. But her mouth, her hands, her body, all seemed to know exactly what was to be done. She moved her lips slightly, pressed them deeper against his, taking the initiative to return the motion he had introduced to the simple action they had undertaken.

Within moments, what seemed at first to be nothing more than a shy, and almost experimental kiss, had blossomed into a tentatively passionate one, with soft motions and desperate touches. Freddy curled his fingers tighter around Summer's waist, nails digging into the fabric of her shirt. Her own fingers carefully caressed the back of his neck, bristling his small blonde hairs. She trembled, and his heart gave a loud skip of realization. A bleat of remembrance, that he wasn't just kissing any girl. That he was kissing Summer Hathaway. As if his body didn't already know that, with how carefully it moved, how sheepish, compared to his usual confidence with other girls. A warning bell was going off in his head, 'you're not supposed to be enjoying this, bail, bail, bail.'

Freddy pushed away, and Summer gulped in air, breathless, flushed, and looking less like the annoying pint-sized Summer he'd always known and more like the beautiful, sophisticated, and well-developed Summer she'd grown into. He turned away, shaken.

"It's good," he stammered, trying to hide the fact he sounded as though he'd just had the wind knocked out of him, "Just fine…" He stumbled towards the door, "Fine," he repeated distractedly, waving over his shoulder and turning the knob, "See you later."

"Freddy."

He paused, grimacing, not wanting to turn and let her see the blush that had fallen over his perfect complexion.

"Um…thanks."

It sounded odd. Inappropriate at best.

"No problem," he chirped, also inappropriate, leaving the room.

There was a car honking downstairs and Summer quickly surmised it to be her mother. She wiped at her lips, they felt cool all of a sudden, from the lack of penetrating warmth provided by Freddy's lips moments before and she'd thought for a moment they might be damp. They weren't. She flustered, grabbing her pack and making her way down the stairs. There was one good thing, she told herself, Freddy didn't tell you that it was horrible.

* * *

END A/N: Man...that really ticks me off...I'm wondering if my story getting taken down has anything to do with my "A/N's"...augh! It's stupid...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. A review would be much loved and appreciated (seeing as how this story was taken down and I lost all those reviews...grr...that's what ticks me off...)!

Thanks for Reading.


	2. Good Girls Want Good Boys

A/N: I AM REALLY HATING TODAY!

BadFaith: Thanks for the review, it rocked. It really bums me out that this story was taken down, seeing as how I had like...fourty/fifty something reviews for it, and now they're gone...lost forever in cyberspace. There were some really awesome reviews too! But, anyhow, I'm hoping to get all the chapters that were taken down up today, and the chapter that I was posting (when I found out this story was taken down) up. So...I'd really appreciate if everyone tried to review for every chapter...but if you don't want to...sniff...sniff...I'll understand...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 2: Good Girls Want Good Boys

Summer checked her reflection in the mirror. Then double checked. She took a deep breath, before doing a slight twirl. She couldn't resist. She had gone shopping with Eleni and Michelle the other day, and found the perfect skirt for the Friday night occasion. Rippled black, flitting out in soft uneven layers. It matched her slightly off the shoulder, long sleeve powder blue blouse magnificently. She slipped her shoes on, pausing to adjust her lip gloss and flip a misplaced curl back where it belonged, before skipping down the stairs to the entryway.

Summer's family wasn't incredibly rich, but fairly well off. She knew richer people that attended the academy. Eleni and Michelle for instance, who couldn't understand why Summer had to opt for buying only the fairly pricey skirt she now adorned, instead of binging like mad at every store in the mall. She left with one bag, the two blondes left with about seven each.

When the doorbell rang, chiming the arrival of a guest, Summer panicked. He was here. He was here. He was here. This was really happening. Kyle Emerson was really on her doorstep. Kyle Emerson really wanted to date her. Kyle Emerson was here. She waited a good moment before striding towards the door. _Never appear too eager_, had been someone's advice once in regards to men. She swung the door open, a sweet smile gracing her features. She frowned.

"What do you want?"

The blonde leaned in the doorway, smiling disarmingly and crossing his arms over his chest. He had still yet to change from their school uniform, though the sleeves were rolled up and his shirt no longer neatly tucked in. A few of the buttons at the top were undone, and his vest was gone.

"Well, hello to you too. I need help," he told her pertly.

Summer rolled her eyes, readying to slam the door in Freddy's oddly smug face. He leapt forward, placing one hand on the quickly closing obstruction, the other holding firmly to the frame.

Neither had spoken about the kissing incident at Dewey's apartment. In fact, both did a fairly good job of completely forgetting about it. It wasn't real, so it might as well have never happened. It seemed almost fuzzy now, like a dream. To Summer at least. And everything was normal between the two, nothing altered, changed, or distorted by the little event. And that was all that really mattered, right?

"What do you want?" she pressed, insistent on an answer.

"You're smart right? Well, let's say there was this little mishap, a total and complete accident…"

Summer tapped her foot impatiently, "Freddy Jones, what have you done this time?"

"I just need to know if it was a felony and…and…why are you all dressed up?"

"Ugh!" Summer cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation, "Have I not mentioned to everyone before that I have a date with Kyle?"

"That's tonight?" he questioned, completely innocently. Though that smirk, on his lips, betrayed a more devious intention in his appearance that night. Summer narrowed her eyes at him, this time the one to cross her arms over her chest, though in a more enraged than laid back way. He wasn't here for help, and he didn't have the desperate and guilty look in his eyes of one who'd just committed a possible crime.

"For the third, and final time, _what do you want_?"

"I was bored, in the neighborhood, and wondered what you were up to. Do we have a gig coming up?" the change of subject was so abrupt and sudden, Summer had to repeat the sentence in her head to comprehend it. How he got from A to C, completely skipping B altogether, was beyond her.

"Only our biggest competition each year," Summer gritted, "Junior Battle of the Bands?"

After the School of Rock's stunt in the fifth grade, namely sneaking into the Battle of the Bands with less than honorable tactics, concocted by Summer herself, a Junior Battle of the Bands was put on two years later. It brought the schools of the state together in heated competition. School of Rock, though obviously far superior to most of the opposing bands they faced off against, were now forced to battle it out against those in their own age group. Unfortunately, that meant Dewey couldn't perform with them anymore. Tomika took up lead vocals, often times with Zack. But being on stage wasn't the same without Dewey up there alongside them, so the band always relished playing their other gigs, at clubs and parties and whatnot, able to be accompanied by their mentor and oldest member, a fact that had to be respected, even if he did have the youngest mentality.

Freddy released the door, running a hand through his gelled hair and studying the chipping paint on the doorframe. He didn't like the answer, and Summer stood, with bated breath, awaiting the complaints to follow. Complaints that never came.

"So this is where you actually live?" Another abrupt subject change. One she didn't approve of and couldn't find her voice to reply to. That was right. Freddy had never actually been to her home. Each band member had everyone else's personal and contact information. Just in case. In case of what, Summer demanded of herself, suddenly harboring regret towards the seemingly harmless and self-implemented system now that she was staring Freddy Jones down on her porch.

The Joneses were massively rich. In fact, before the divorce, the Jones family was number twelve on the list of richest people in America, almost at eleven. Freddy had probably never been to Summer's neighborhood or one like it in his life, even just to breeze by in a brief passing-through car ride. It must be odd for him, Summer decided, to look at a suburban home. It must seem small to him, dirty even, poor and ransacked. Of course, her house was none of those things, but to someone who'd lived in giant mansions cleaned daily by paid domestics, and hung around high society Country clubs, well, Summer could only imagine how it must appear to him.

"No," Summer drawled cynically, "Our real house is in Bel-Air, I'm just visiting." Freddy looked away sheepishly, running a hand over his neck and standing awkwardly.

"What's with the attitude?" His question hung empty in the air. Both were well aware, he already knew the answer to that one.

"What do you want?"

"You said you weren't going to ask that anymore," Freddy pointed out. Summer pursed her lips, scowling. He sighed, "Nothing. I was in the neighborhood, that wasn't a lie."

"Doing what?"

"There's a record shop a few blocks from here I like to browse, that alright with you?" Freddy replied, sounding quite miffed. Summer moved to smooth out her shirt, brushing a black curl behind her ear, and the motion caused Freddy to pause and take in her image. He hadn't really looked at her, when he first arrived.

"Why _are _you all dolled up?" he blurted out, and received a cold glare.

"I told you, my date with - "

"Yeah. But why get all dressed up for that bast -"

"If there is no other reason for you to be standing on my doorstep, I think I've had enough visiting for the night," Summer cleanly cut him off. Freddy frowned, but nodded.

"I'll see you later then," he muttered, turning to leave.

"Um…Freddy?" He paused, turned back to glance curiously at the fidgeting young woman, "Do you really think I look nice?" Her eyes were wide, bright, and hopeful. She was nervous, he could sense that, and obviously feeling self-conscious. She desperately needed him to approve of her appearance, that much he discerned, but he wasn't sure why.

"Positively gorgeous," he supplied, and she smirked somewhat. The statement sounded sarcastic, and less truthful than it actually was, but she didn't mind.

"Good-night," she returned, shutting the door quietly as he trailed the rest of the way down the walk.

Freddy frowned, stopping partway down the street to study a piece of hardened gum on the cement. It seemed a foreign object to him. He hadn't gone to the record store that evening, and his lack of carried purchases should have been more than enough to enlighten Summer to that fact. He couldn't walk into a store without buying half the merchandise, and that went double for a record store. He had money, or more precisely, his parents had money and he liked to use it. Lavishly so. He had been in the neighborhood, that bit was true. Wandering around aimlessly. At first he'd thought he was going to the record store, but then his feet had brought him to that small cul-de-sac, that, if it weren't for that tall, stately brown house, he wouldn't have noticed as anywhere out of the ordinary. And an unsettling fact settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd set out for Summer's house, in the very beginning. He'd reached a new low. He'd lied to _himself_.

The reason for leaving his house, or more precisely, not even going there, Freddy knew, was simple. His father. When his parents had divorced, in his tender youth, his parents had made an agreement. His mother would have custody until he reached adolescence, when a father-figure would be more necessary in his life, according to his psychiatrist. If his mother hadn't stably remarried by then, full custody would be turned over to his father. Evidently, his mother had yet to remarry. She hadn't even started dating until Freddy was out of the house and moved in with his father. She had visitation rights, as well, that she never used. She probably had her reasons, but Freddy could only draw one conclusion. His own mother didn't even want him.

But Summer's house, of all the houses in the world, was a doozy of a place to end up. She didn't live nearby Freddy, in fact, he'd been walking nearly half-an-hour, silently cursing himself for not passing that damned driver's test yet, and his father, for not letting him have a car until he got the damned license. Eventually, however, the chill night had effected him and quieted his mind, guiding his steps towards the lovely Hathaway abode. He had expected something…something…_more_. But he didn't know what. He realized, staring up at that small two-story Ranch style house, he knew so little of Summer outside of school and the band. He'd always imagined Miss Prestigious lived as luxuriously as the next Horace Green Prep school snob. It was a shake of reality, those tiny, practical homes. There was no needless space, no unused rooms, no hulking shells as empty as those who resided in them. Freddy thought for a moment, he might like to live in a house much like those that lined that cul-de-sac.

And then suddenly, it all seemed to fit for Summer. For some reason, she seemed like she belonged with those houses. In fact, she was one of those houses. She didn't flourish or flaunt herself, much like those houses. She wasn't extravagant, lavish, or overdone. She was simplistic, while outspoken, and outgoing, she easily shifted into the background of the crowd. It made her such a good manager, not wanting to shine in the spotlight, but easily the driving force of the band. She was strong, and supportive like those houses. Almost…cozy.

Freddy had regretted ringing the doorbell as soon as he heard its muffled song inside the house. He thought of turning to run, to flee. But the door swung open, and there stood Summer. The smell of the house was what hit him. It smelled so…so…lived in. It painfully reminded him of his own house, which only ever smelled of ammonia and alcohol and sometimes sex. But Summer's home smelled of heat, stale potpourri, popcorn, lasagna, mothballs, burning dust, and, oddly enough, clover. He hated it. He immediately hated it. Because it was unfamiliar, strange, and an Eden he couldn't enter.

_What do you want_? Four times Summer had asked Freddy that question, and four times he had danced around it with lies and half-truths. Mainly because, he didn't know.

No. That wasn't true. Freddy knew what he wanted. He'd wanted to stand on Summer's porch and ring her doorbell. He'd wanted to pretend that he was picking her up for a date, and not Kyle.

Why? He didn't know. He didn't like her. At least not in that way. He hardly saw her as a girl, let alone, dateable.

No. That wasn't true either. He knew why. Because for once, he wanted to know what it was like, to stand in the cold night air, on the doorstep of a simple and cozy girl, and ring her doorbell and see her rush down, and open the door and smile out, having eagerly anticipated his arrival and spent hours in preparation. He'd wanted to know what it was like, to pick up the good girl for a date. Summer had smiled, when she'd opened that door. Then frowned, noticeably, when she saw who was standing there, basking in the porch light.

Freddy saw a car pull up along the curb of Summer's house. The engine was killed and a dark figure stepped out of the driver's side door. Kyle Emerson. Of course, he had a car and could drive, Freddy thought bitterly. For a fleeting moment, he wanted to stay behind, hide in the bushes or something along those lines and watch as Kyle rang the bell, just to see what happened. Summer would smile when she answered, winningly, and it wouldn't falter or fail altogether. It would stay plastered there, nauseatingly sweet. She would greet him wholeheartedly instead of with a brusque, "what do you want?" Freddy wondered if she would introduce Kyle to her parents, and invite him in. They would sit around the couch chatting, asking him questions. Then, approving of the young man, they would see their daughter off with him, joking about a ridiculous curfew time of ten, then chuckling, allotting for 'whenever' because he seemed like such a nice and responsible young man. He might lead Summer to the car by the hand, and open the door for her and then he would whisk her away on a romantic and sickeningly perfect date.

Freddy shook his head, continuing away. Summer was a good girl. And he was a bad boy, by reputation and self-admittance. And bad boys never got the good girls. The truly pure ones, like Summer, at least. The good boys always won the good girls in the end. Good boys, like Kyle Emerson.

0-0-

Summer groaned inwardly as the bell rang a second time that night. She hefted a sigh, opening the door and half-expecting to see Freddy standing there once more with another outrageous and just as ambiguous reason for coming back. For a moment she couldn't remember if she was supposed to be disappointed or pleased to find Kyle standing there instead. Luckily, she recalled and recovered in mere milliseconds, smiling broadly, though not quite as softly and eagerly as she had when the bell had first been rung. She cursed Freddy silently, she'd wasted her good smile on him.

"Why Miss Hathaway, you are a vision," Kyle exclaimed, and Summer had to giggle, despite the cheesiness of the statement.

"Hi, Kyle," she greeted airily, while reaching for her coat. She took a moment to take him in. He was tall, well-built, with neatly combed brown locks, and deep set blue eyes. He was keenly dressed in a khaki colored pair of slacks and a light yellow button down shirt. The collar was neatly pressed. His well rounded nose and thin lips were pulled into a boyish grin. He had a slight tan, and a wholesome clean-cut look about him. He was perfect. She smiled at the compliment, pulling her coat on and he moved forward to help her. This only intensified her smile.

"Where are your parents?" he questioned, glancing into the dark house. Summer had turned all the lights off in anticipation of Kyle's arrival.

"My mom is out," she answered shortly, "Are we ready to go?"

"Oh, definitely," Kyle told her, slipping an arm over her shoulders, much to her satisfaction, and leading her towards the car, "I was just kind of hoping to meet you parents, give them a good impression of me. But maybe some other time…" Summer smiled. Was that a hint that there would be more dates to follow this one?

They slid into Kyle's car, a dark blue Mustang, the top rolled up. Summer quickly buckled her seatbelt, and Kyle revved the engine, turning out of the cul-de-sac and driving down the road.

"So, where are we going?" Summer asked, her voice painfully high-pitched. She was trying to sound calm and composed, despite how her heart was pounding and her anxieties raging. Was it okay to ask where they were going, or was it supposed to be a surprise?

"There's a nice little café I wanted to take you to," Kyle answered, turning onto a major street and weaving into traffic.

For a long time, neither spoke. The silence was disturbing to Summer. She stared out the window, watching the cars pass and searching her empty mind for something to say. At school, she talked to Kyle about their class and their assignments and it all seemed so easy. But sitting in his car, that she noticed smelled of vanilla and coconuts, talking about schoolwork seemed a little out-of-place. She thought of bringing up basketball, as Kyle was on the school team, but she didn't know anything of the sport. All she knew was that she was bad at it, and that it wasn't wise to play opposing teams whose members had long nails and a tendency to scratch. She wondered if she should wait for him to speak first, but, as it wasn't in her nature to let someone else take the initiative, she threw that idea out the window.

Kyle tapped the steering wheel, before reaching forward to turn the radio on. Low music streamed out, and Summer chewed the inside of her cheek. Easy beats backing an obviously pasted together voice slipped from the speakers. The lyrics were catchy, and the two-sentence chorus seemed to comprise the entire song.

"I love this band," Kyle commented, moving to turn the volume up, before hesitating. He glanced to Summer, who was pressed into her seat, her nose scrunched at the noise pounding from the radio. This group was not a band, she mentally remarked, the music was all thrown together on a synthesizer and corporate suits probably bought the lyrics off some unknown. The singers didn't even play their own instruments, there were no instruments to play. Just computerized rhythms. But she didn't mention that to Kyle.

"No, I like this song," she lied, "Well, it sounds good, anyways. I really don't listen to the radio much." Kyle looked surprised at this, glancing her from the corner of his eye.

"You don't listen to the radio? I thought music was your thing," he gawked, and Summer shrugged awkwardly, "Aren't you part of some band…"

"School of Rock," Summer informed him quietly, "And I'm not really a _part_ of the band. I'm the manager." She paused, feeling her heart thump. That's right, she thought, you're not _really _a part of the band. _Aren't you kind of useless to us_? Was that how they all felt?

"Are you kidding?" Kyle spoke up, startling Summer somewhat. For a moment, she'd forgotten he was there, "The manager _is _the band." Summer couldn't help but smile at that, no matter how untrue she felt it was.

"That's sweet," she commented, "But I can't play an instrument, I'm not the greatest of singers, and I really don't have an ear for music…how am I the band?"

"You seem to doubt how important you are as a manager," Kyle stated and Summer looked flabbergasted. She opened her mouth to dispute the statement, clamped it shut again. She didn't want to talk about how important she felt she was, because it would immediately bring her to thinking how important everyone else thought she was, and then straight to how important was she really. Kyle strummed his fingers against the wheel, "Tell me about the band." Somehow he sensed a change of subject was needed and Summer was grateful.

As Summer settled into discussing everything about every band member, about their past and future gigs, and regaling Kyle with the tale of how they'd all come together, it became apparent that while talking about being the manager of School of Rock was one thing, talking about School of Rock itself was a different story all together. Everything spilled out, every little moment, every relationship she'd made. She talked about Michelle and Eleni, and how they'd already been fairly decent friends before but the band brought them closer together. About Katie, the quiet shy girl turned bassist, that was quickly becoming one of Summer's best friends. About Gordie, and Marco, and Lawrence, and Tomika, and Zack and Leonard, how close she'd come to all of them. How the band had opened these otherwise secluded individuals. About Alicia and Marta, who'd seemed intimidating at first with their good looks and open nature. About Billy and his flamboyant personality and even more flamboyant styles. About Frankie, whom Summer would have been too scared to speak to had the band not formed and revealed his friendly, laidback demeanor. And Dewey, who encouraged them all to be themselves and stick it to the man, no matter what form of adversary the man appeared as.

Though, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to talk about or even mention Freddy. Maybe she was still mad at him for their fight the other day even though they had both semi-apologized, or perhaps the 'practice session' between them was suddenly jolted back to her memory, or possibly she didn't consider herself as close to Freddy as the other band members, or it was even conceivable that she was worried Kyle would react badly towards the notion Summer worked alongside Horace Green's notorious 'bad boy'. For whatever reason, she made a mental note, not to bring him up. Eventually she eased into telling Kyle stories of their misadventures as a band, easing into the narrative, smiling at remembered jokes and moments that had seemed bad at the time but were hilarious now.

"…our last gig," Summer was saying, "Had to have been the worst. We were playing at a club, and a lot of things went wrong. Tomika had a sore throat, and then lost her voice! So we were short a singer. However, I'd had Marta learn Tomika's part as well, just in case, and she covered decently. The house amps were horribly low quality. Fortunately, we'd recently used our band savings to buy two new ones of our own. Zack broke a string, and we hadn't thought to bring extra guitars. Luckily, the roadies had brought extra packages of string. However, Zack had to take the time to restring and retune the guitar completely. And then Dewey got a little drunk, and we had to drag him out of the club to the van. But they put on a great performance, even got an encore, which they gave, even if the money-grubbing club manager refused to pay us for it.

"In the end, I've made an addition to the roadies' equipment list to bring extra guitars, should the emergency arise again. I'm also thinking of taking Dewey to an AA meeting," Summer giggled slightly at that, "I don't think he'd go for it, though. He'd probably insist that Freddy needs it more than…" she trailed off, and her hand came to her mouth in surprise.

Kyle eyed Summer quizzically, evidently trying to place the name, but she was saved from giving an explanation when they pulled into the parking lot of the café. Kyle parked the car, and they silently exited. He opened the door of the restaurant for her, and nodded to the host. It was a small café, fancily done. Little tables for two were dotted here and there surrounded by the iridescent glow of candles and the natural beauty of wildflower designs.

"It's so pretty in here," Summer commented to Kyle. He smiled, obviously glad she approved, and slipped an arm around her waist as they followed the host to their table.

Kyle pulled the chair out for Summer, helping her remove her coat, and pushed the chair back in as she sat before taking his own seat. The host laid out their menus, nodded to them, and turned to leave. Daintily, Summer peeked open her menu, glancing at the different items listed, her eyes widening slightly when she saw the high prices.

"Don't look at those," Kyle told her, putting a hand over the column of numbers, "Tonight is your night, order whatever you want. Don't let a little thing like price deter you. I want to give you anything you want." Summer smiled, flattered. "You look really beautiful tonight." She blushed, the color in her cheeks enhanced by the glow of the firelight.

"I'm still surprised you asked me out," she admitted quietly.

"Why wouldn't I?" Kyle questioned, appearing shocked and slightly peeved at the notion all at once. He took her hand in his own, and she was pleasantly startled by how soft and smooth it was, "I'm still surprised you said yes."

They were interrupted as the waitress came up to the table. She smiled pleasantly, noting how cute they were, holding hands.

"My name is Carolyn, I'll be your server today. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"A Sprite for me," Kyle told the woman, allowing a loose smile to shift his features, and never relinquishing his hold on Summer's hand.

"And for you, miss?"

"Um…" Summer was thoughtful, looking at the menu, "An ice tea please."

"Of course. Are you ready to place your orders now, or do you need a few more moments?" Kyle looked to Summer, then back to Carolyn.

"A few more moments would be nice," he told the woman, and she nodded, turning to leave. Summer lifted her menu, scanning the many featured items, and trying to decide what she would want. It all sounded delicious. "You see anything worth eating?"

"What would you recommend?" Summer questioned, lowering the menu to smile at her date. He smiled back, his own menu opened before him.

"The pasta sounds good," he suggested, and she nodded. He called the waitress back over and they each ordered.

When they were alone, it was silence again.

"I was really nervous about tonight," Kyle finally spoke up, leaning back into his chair. He had still yet to let go of Summer's hand, and was now stroking it somewhat with his thumb. The motion was soothing.

"Oh?" Summer mumbled, looking to him in a way that said, 'please continue'.

"Well," Kyle mumbled, fidgeting with Summer's hand, staring at it intently, "You're different then any other girl I've ever met." Summer was taken aback by that statement. She said nothing, remaining blushingly silent as her date continued, "You're smart, driven, beautiful…you know what you want in life, and exactly what you need to do to get there. I admire that about you."

"Thanks," Summer finally managed to murmur.

"I guess I was nervous because…well…I would be really crushed if I screwed up my date with the perfect girl." Summer glanced up, his deep blue eyes staring at her now. Her entire face had to be red, she knew it.

"I felt the same," she conceded and he smiled broadly, bringing her hand up to brush his lips against it.

0-0-

Summer was startled when Kyle pulled up into the driveway of a recording studio. She looked at him expectant of an explanation. He simply grinned at her and opened the door to exit the vehicle. She followed suit. After dinner was finished, they'd chatted well into the night, and shared a piece of cheesecake. Thinking the evening was over, Summer had settled into the seat and eagerly awaited arriving home, as she was somewhat drowsy. The hot air blowing from the car AC didn't do much to curve her fatigue. Needless to say, she didn't pay much attention to where Kyle was driving them to.

But now there they were, at a recording studio, and Summer was completely confused. She'd been to one similar recording studio before, when the band was putting together a demo tape. It was a bit more seedy, however, then that clean building with the shiny windows and glossy new white paint job. She trailed behind Kyle, and once more he held the door open for her. She still wasn't sure what was going on.

A man, and three boys, Summer and Kyle's age it appeared, were standing in the front lobby. They perked when they saw the couple enter. Summer didn't recognize any of the boys, so she quickly surmised that none of them went to Horace Green Prep. They were all handsome, clean cut. One was blonde, his hair a shaggy bowl cut, his eyes a shiny blue. Another was tall, black haired, brown eyed. The other was a brunette, with deep brown eyes and a boyish smile. They were all well-built, dressed in loose pants, and button down shirts or collared t-shirts. The man was thin, tall, a scraggily five o'clock shadow was evident, and his greasy blonde hair was pulled slickly back into a small pony-tail. He was wearing a nice silk suit, bright purple and black. A gold watch adorned his wrist, and his eyes were covered in fancy sunglasses.

"Kyle, baby," the man spoke up, "Where have you been? And who is this sultry young woman."

"I told you all about Summer," Kyle said pleasantly, bringing the shell-shocked girl forward, "Summer, these are my friends and band mates. That's Cory," he pointed to the blonde, "That's Darren," the black haired boy, "And that over there is Matthew," the other brunette, "And this man is with the recording company, Mr. Salvatore." The blonde pony-tailed man reached a hand forward, and as though the gesture had woken Summer from a trance, she remembered her manners, smiled, and shook the hand firmly.

"Summer Hathaway, pleased to meet you. Did you say…band mates?" she looked to Kyle in confusion. He grinned, nodding.

"Surprised?"

"Well…you didn't mention anything about…well, yes," Summer stammered. Kyle looped an arm around her waist, taking her forward towards the back, the recording room. The others followed.

"I had a recording session tonight, and I thought, you might be interested in listening," he whispered in her ear. His breath was warm, and it sent shivers down her spine.

"I would love to," she breathed in response. She feverishly noticed the others following. Every time Kyle spoke to her, or touched her, the heat flowed to her face and she felt awkward and strange and alien all at once, and her heart burst into rapid flutters.

Summer watched through the soundproof glass as the four boys situated themselves in front of their microphones, headsets in place over their ears. She stared around, recognizing all the buttons and switches on the interface, the big machine at the far wall with its twin rolls of thin plastic tape, whirling around when the whole set-up lighted. The music, a catchy beat mostly produced on a synthesizer, she noted, burst into action. The boys broke into singing, their lyrics pouring out soulfully and harmoniously. Summer found herself tapping her foot, and eventually the words to the chorus were spilling from her mouth as well. They sounded good, she had to admit, even if the type of music wasn't to her liking.

"Good, huh?" Mr. Salvatore called over the low hum of music, and Summer turned to him smiling and nodding.

"I didn't know Kyle could sing like that," she admitted, then blushingly realized, she really didn't know a great deal about Kyle yet other than he liked her, was smart, went to the same school, and made her feel all giddy inside.

"I know. We had to sign him as soon as we heard his pipes," Mr. Salvatore replied, "Our company was putting together a band, and he could both sing and dance and he had the heartthrob look. We put him together, with the other three, and they hit it off good and they sound great together. We're calling them,

Barber Boys. You know, like a barbershop quartet."

"Oh, clever!"

"I'll tell the president you said that. He came up with the name. They're first CD should be out this time next year," Mr. Salvatore continued, "But I'm worried that it'll be delayed."

"Why's that?"

"They recently fired their manager and they're looking for a new one."

"Oh," Summer frowned, looking back through the glass at Kyle and the other boys. Some ominous feeling passed through her gut. As the boys left the small room to rejoin the others, Kyle came to Summer's side.

"What did you think?" he inquired, slipping an arm over her shoulders. She pulled away, giving him a half-hearted smile and heading towards the door.

"It was good," she mumbled, leaving the suddenly crowded studio and heading for the outside. Kyle was quick to follow, leaving his friends chattering behind them.

"Summer, wait, what's wrong?" he called, catching her by the elbow and turning her to face him. Tears had suddenly sprung to her eyes and she glared up at him fiery.

"Tell me…please tell me, that this, tonight, wasn't about you wanting me to manage your boy band," she seethed, and Kyle seemed taken aback. He stepped away, releasing her.

"Who told you that?"

"Mr. Salvatore mentioned that your group was in need of a new manager, and you asked about my being a manager of a band," Summer persisted, "I'm not stupid. I can put two and two together."

"Summer, please listen. I wanted to date you, tonight wasn't an underhanded way of getting you to come here and see my band. I just…I just…I'm not going to lie to you. When I'd heard you were a band manager, I thought about it. But I honestly like you, a lot. Yes, I was going to ask if you'd manage our band…but…" he brought a hand up to wipe away those stray tears falling down her cheeks, then brushing her hair from her face, "It wasn't going to be until later, until I'd thought about how it would effect my chances…"

"You're chances of what," Summer demanded, though her tone had softened considerably.

"My chances of being your boyfriend."

"My…my…"

"Miss Hathaway, I haven't made a secret of how I feel about you," Kyle grinned, a happy gleam in his eyes, "And I truly hope you return those feelings. Please, please, please…be my one and only. I'd say go steady with me, but it sounds too fifties."

Summer couldn't help but smile and blush profusely, as she nodded. He pulled her forward, by the hand, brushing his lips against her own. It was brief, and when they fell apart, Summer's head was spinning wildly.

"So that's a yes," Kyle whispered against her lips, "And now that you're my girlfriend, will you consider being our band manager."

"I don't know…" Summer mumbled, and Kyle pulled away slightly, looking down at her a bit hurt. She scrambled to explain herself, she didn't want to lose her first boyfriend moments before she got him, "I mean, managing one band is hard enough, but two…"

"Summer," Kyle started hesitantly, "I wasn't suggesting you manage two bands."

* * *

END A/N: If I remember correctly, this was where I said, "Freddy and Kyle are meant to be complete opposites. Here's Kyle, totally perfect and all that shit, and here's Freddy, the lovable badass. They look complete opposite as well, pretty Kyle with blue eyes, brown hair, tall, and somewhat tan. And here's Freddy (way hotter) with blonde hair, brown eyes, kind of on the white side. Kyle plays basketball and is in a boyband, Freddy doesn't play well with others and is in a rock band." But since the story was deleted, you guys don't get all that fun shit.

Stupid website.

Stupid rules I wasn't breaking.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and _**REVIEW**_! Since this story was taken down, I lost all those reviews. I would love to get all those reviews back...please...reviews...reviews...reviews for the poor!

THanks for REading.


	3. True Friends Want the Best for You

A/N: I also saw somebody, who was all..."and she said three day intervals! Yeah right" (something like that, not exact quote). Man, it totally pissed me off. I had every intention of posting these chapters in three day intervals, and I've got rabid Rocket Power fans wondering why I'm not updating my story in that fandom so that I can bring you guys this complete story in a scheduled updating regime, instead of random updates like other author's do. And up until chapter 7 (when the story was taken down) I had kept my promise. Did the fact my story just up and disappeared not seem a little strange to you? Well maybe I should just leave this story discontinued..

No. I wouldn't do that. I have all the way up to (almost) chapter 12 written and I'm almost done with it. Not to mention, all my reviewers had been nothing but sweet and loyal. I couldn't do that to them. But that really ticked me off. Just kick a gal when she's down.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 3: True Friends Want The Best For You 

Katie honked her car horn impatiently, before checking her mirror again to ensure her make-up was still perfectly placed. Zack sat in the back, rolling his eyes at her. It was the fourth time since she'd picked him up that she had looked in that mirror.

When Katie had first gotten her license, she insisted that carpooling in the morning be started amongst the band members, to help save pollution in the atmosphere. Eventually, the environment-friendly plan, turned into her driving around the band mates that still rode the bus to school. Zack himself had his license, but feeling badly for Katie and her failing but good-natured idea, he took his turn driving the others around. And that meant taking his turn be driven around.

"Will you cut that out?" he moaned, impatiently, "You look great…I mean," his cheeks turned pink as she glanced up at him in the rearview mirror, a little stunned by the proclamation, "Fine. You look fine. Why the big deal over your looks anyway?"

"No big deal," Katie insisted, smiling mischievously, "There is a particular boy in my social studies class…"

"That's all I need to know," Zack groaned, "You girls are all the same."

"I wonder what's taking Marta so long," Katie said, choosing to ignore that last comment. As if on cue, the aforementioned strawberry blonde exited her house, closing the door quietly behind her after a last shout good-bye to her parents. She raced down the walkway towards Katie's car in a hasty jog, her bright smile neatly in place.

"Sorry I'm late," Marta said, though she sounded too cheerful and satisfied with herself to be apologetic. Katie tore away from the curb, ripping down the road in the direction of their next and last stop, Summer's house.

"Well you know how this works, Marta," Katie began, mock angry, "If you're late, then we're late. If we're late, then Summer's late. If Summer's late then - "

"All hell breaks lose," the other two companions chimed in monotonously and Katie made a face.

"So you've heard that one already?"

"I wonder how Summer's date went," Marta exclaimed and Zack scrunched his nose.

"Date?"

"On Friday," Katie supplied.

"That was _last _Friday?"

The girls rolled their eyes and Katie reached forward to turn the stereo on. The Rolling Stones poured from the station, and Zack immediately became too preoccupied studying and admiring the guitar riffs to bother with listening to the girls chatter in the front seat.

"I'm sure we'll hear all the details of the date from Summer when we pick her up," Katie told Marta, who sighed dreamily.

"He must have been a real gentleman," she beamed, "He's so cute, always holding doors open for girls in the hallway. When Meg Masters dropped her books, and you know how hideous Meg is with her bad acne and everybody-is-my-friend-even-if-they-can't-stand-me-or-I've-only-seen-them-once attitude , Kyle _crossed _the hall to help her pick them up. How sweet is that? Even if it is just Meg…"

"I just hope Summer had a good time," Katie said, "It was her first official date. Her mom's set her up with boys before, but she's never really been asked out. And damn straight, he better of been a gentleman or I'll break my bass guitar over his awesomely attractive head."

"He does have an attractive head, doesn't he?" Marta grinned, and Katie nodded.

"Attractive ass, too." The Stones song chose to fade to commercials at that statement and Zack made a horrified expression.

"What are you two talking about?" he wailed, and the girls broke into giggles.

"Oh, definitely you," Katie teased, and Zack smiled somewhat goofily, though, easily picking up on the joke. He rolled his eyes and stared longingly at the radio, as though willing it to blare classic rock songs.

They pulled in front of Summer's house and, to Zack's relief, Katie pushed in her The Who CD. Summer, as expected, was waiting patiently on the front sidewalk, and quickly jumped into the backseat beside Zack. She looked fairly uncertain, a little solemn, and her smile seemed forced. Marta overlooked it, and Zack was too lost in the music to notice, but Katie furrowed her brow, glancing in the rearview mirror back at Summer a few times.

Katie was close to most all of the band members, and loved them all dearly, and while being in the band had brought her out of her shell a great deal, she was still a quiet and fairly shy girl at heart. Finding the words to voice her concern for Summer, who obviously didn't want the others to be concerned, was not an easy task. So she remained silent, driving along the road.

Marta turned in her seat to look at Summer, dimples in her cheeks. Abruptly she questioned, "How was the date?" Summer turned a few various shades of pink, before lowering her head to study her hands, neatly folded in her lap.

"You mean, with my boyfriend," she stated as casually as she could but unable to cover the squeak in her voice. It took exactly 2 seconds for Marta and Katie to comprehend the full meaning of that sentence and then break into hysterical squeals, blocking out The Who and forcing Zack to slap his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to muffle out the sound. Katie's car swerved slightly, and he scrambled for his seatbelt, which he had, regrettably, failed to put on when they'd set out.

"Oh. My. God. Summer," Marta cried, giddily, emphasizing each word with a huff of breath, "Welcome to the wonderful world of dating! Tell us everything…and then we can tell everyone at school everything, and then at band practice after school, you can tell us all everything all over again!"

"I don't think I could stand that…" Zack protested, still holding his hands over his ears in fear the screaming would begin again.

"Oh, and then you can bring Kyle to band practice so we can all meet him," Katie joined in, though the glint in her eye suggested it was partially to make Zack squirm, "And he can tell us all everything all over again from _his _point of view!"

"Now I _know _I couldn't stand that," Zack cried.

"Well, I do need to talk to the band about something…" Summer said, mysteriously subdued. She snapped out of it though, with a wicked grin, "But I guess I should start from the very beginning…when he picked me up he was so sweet, he even helped me put my coat on and he _wanted _to meet my mother…"

0-0-

"…and then he asked me to be his girlfriend, and I said 'yes', of course, and he kissed me," Summer finished regaling the girls of the band once more at lunch. She had conveniently left out the part of the recording studio and Kyle's extended offer to her of managing the Barber Boys. That would have to come later when the entire band was with Dewey and she could formally bring it to their attention.

Michelle, Eleni, Alicia, and Tomika were pressed in closely, hanging on each word that came from Summer's mouth, whereas Marta and Katie, who'd already heard the story, listened less intently then they had the first time, but still gave an appreciative 'aw' at the end with the other girls. Freddy and Frankie sat at the end of the table next to one another, wearing particularly nauseated faces, Zack across from them.

"I had to put up with that the whole way to school," he informed the two boys in a disgusted whisper. They nodded their sympathies.

"You deserve such a sweet guy, Summer, and it's about time too," Tomika commented, and the other girls quickly agreed.

"Thanks," Summer smiled.

"You are so lucky," Marta swooned, leaning forward, lost in daydream, and Alicia, sitting next to her, nodded.

"He's the perfect boyfriend," Eleni murmured, "He was dating Greta James, before. He gave her all the respect in the world, and that little tramp had to go behind his back and…"

"Greta James…didn't I make out with her once?" Freddy asked of no one in particular, his brow drawn together, trying to put a face to the name.

"Well you can figure the rest of that one out," Eleni muttered, and the girls sent dark looks the confused drummer's direction. For a moment, Summer pondered hating Freddy, for being the root cause of past heartache in her, now, boyfriend's life. But as he shrugged and stole a grape from Zack's lunch, she decided she didn't have the energy, "He was so devastated, I heard, and he poured it all into poetry. At least, that's the rumor. And then he sent them all to her."

"What a pussy," Frankie commented, then gulped in regret when Eleni and Michelle shot him twin glares.

"Yeah, and what's with sending the poems to the girl?" Freddy put in, missing the looks given to his burlesque friend, "I mean, sheesh, that's kind of lame if you ask me. Writing poetry is one thing, but then giving them to your ex, whom their written about after a bad breakup, that seems borderline psycho…"

"I, for one, like a guy that can write poetry," Summer spoke up, "And isn't afraid to show his feelings for a girl in such a manner. He was upset, and poetry was his outlet. Giving them to the girl, was obviously, a way of showing her and himself that he was over it and over her." The other girls gave their agreement in nods or murmurs, "Honestly, Freddy Jones, I thought you practically lived in the psychiatrist's office."

Suddenly, just as Freddy opened his mouth to retort, a flower fell in front of Summer. A small yellow one that grew wild on the campus. Everyone startled, looking up to see Kyle, who bent to place a light kiss on Summer's cheek. The girls wore soft smiles, and a few gave whispered, "aw's". The boys watched, trying to appear disinterested, but much like the girls, paying careful attention to the entire exchange between the newly founded couple, and not doing a great job of pretending otherwise.

"I just wanted to remind you of what an awesome time I had last Friday," Kyle said, his hands resting on Summer's shoulders, and she was blushing from ear to ear.

"Me too," she mumbled. Freddy made gagging noises that the boys subtly chuckled to, and Summer threw him a sour glare. He stopped, giving her a 'what?' look. But Kyle had slid into the seat next to her, either choosing to ignore the immature interaction, or missing it all together. He brushed a loose strand of hair from Summer's face, causing her to blush all over again, and trailed his finger down her jaw line, momentarily, before pulling his hand away.

"I kind of couldn't wait until English to see you, also," he mumbled, which created a whole new wave of "aw's" from the girls, and more looks of distaste from the boys, "Maybe tomorrow, we can sit together at lunch…just you and me." He smiled, almost shyly, and Summer felt her head nod, beyond her control. "Great, I'll look forward to it," he glanced around, most likely searching for any on-looking supervisors, before brushing his lips against Summer's, "I'll see you in English."

"Right, see you," Summer mumbled, sounding almost weak and suddenly out-of-breath, a strangely serene smile on her face and a great deal of color in her cheeks. And then, he was gone.

"Oh my god, you two are so cute!" Marta exclaimed, and the other girls burst into excited squeals, the boys throwing their hands over their ears and wincing.

"That was so sweet of him!" Alicia cried, "That boy is damn fine."

Summer picked up the flower, twirling it in her fingers, flushed and grinning stupidly.

"But you always eat lunch with _us_," Freddy blurted out, then shifted uncomfortably when he received odd looks from everyone at the table, "Not that I'm complaining. I'm just worried that I'll have to witness another scene like that, only all during lunch period, and when I'm eating, too."

"Oh," Summer turned to the girls, "You guys don't mind, do you?"

"No way, girl," Michelle spoke up, "You have a beau now, there's nothing we can do but be overly ecstatic for you!" Summer smiled, then gasped, a thought popping in her head.

"Oh, what if this means I start to slack off on my manager duties?" she questioned, having forgotten Kyle's proposal the other night, altogether, "After Thursday's mishaps…"

"Take it easy, Summer," Katie assured her, with a wave of her hand.

"But what if Kyle wants to hang out when we have practice and…"

"It's not that important," Alicia interrupted.

"Yeah, it's not like we need you at every practice," Zack spoke up, picking at his lunch. Summer nodded, and no one seemed to notice how her face fell slightly, and she looked back to that flower in her hand. That's right, she told herself, it's not like you're that important. It's not like you're that needed.

0-0-

Summer sat in study hall, last period of the day, with Michelle, Eleni, and Marta all taking turns praising her on her boyfriend, fawning over Summer's new relationship, until finally Summer felt the need for a subject change.

"Did we get our science homework finished?" she questioned. They simply gave her blank looks, before continuing on in their argument about whether Kyle was more of a puppy dog or a teddy bear.

"Tell us about English class," Michelle commanded, and Summer scrunched her nose.

"Again?" she sighed and the three bobbed their heads, "Well, he took the seat next to mine, and we wrote notes on each other's papers most of the period, when we weren't studiously paying attention and diligently taking notes."

"That is just so cute. You two are like the perfect couple," Eleni sighed, "I wish I wasn't single right now."

"Oh, did you and Brad split?" Summer questioned, eager to take the attention off herself. She wasn't aware having a boyfriend was such hard work.

"Yeah," she explained, "I just have to tell him today after school."

"Do you already have someone new in mind?" Summer pressed, knowing her other friend well-enough. Eleni smiled, then shrugged, before running her hand through her blonde locks.

"There is that new exchange student," she admitted, and the girls gave varied reactions. Michelle wrinkled her nose in uncertainty, Marta nodded understandingly, and Summer simply shrugged it off, wondering how long that crush would last.

"I wish I had a boyfriend," Marta whispered, doodling on the paper in front of her. She drew little hearts and stars, and almost started printing a name in one of those hearts, but quickly blackened it in. Summer, as she was observant by nature, noticed this. She thought to say something, but was cut off by Michelle.

"I'm getting tired of waiting around, myself," she fumed, "When is that obnoxious jerk ever going to work up the courage to ask me out?"

"Who? Frankie?" Summer asked.

"Frankie," Eleni confirmed.

"He has sent me a poem every Valentine's Day since seventh grade, and frankly, I couldn't have made it anymore obvious that I liked them, seeing as how they're all hanging in my locker, with little hearts, and _his picture_," Michelle continued, "Does he honestly think I don't know he sent them? He didn't even try to hide that it was his handwriting!"

"Well, Michelle. It's not really just _his _picture you hung in there, but one of the whole fifth grade class," Summer pointed out, "And maybe he's living in denial, or holding onto the vain hope that you didn't even think to compare his handwriting to that of the poems. If you want to be with him so badly…well…maybe you _should _stop waiting around and ask him out." Michelle twirled her hair around her finger, looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"I know you're all Equal Rights about everything," she finally said, "But a guy asking a girl out is sacred. If a girl goes to a boy and asks him on a date, it takes away from his image, his manliness. He has to be the one to ask the girl out, or he feels…well…less. I guess I can't expect you to understand, though, as you're only on boyfriend number one."

"Oh, no, I understand," Summer said, trying not to let her temper show through her words, "I understand that you're fueling our societies chauvinistic stereotype of how a man should be in control of the relationship, from start to finish."

"Did you ask Kyle out?" Michelle retorted.

"Well…no, but that has nothing…"

"But you had to of liked Kyle prior to the initial 'asking out', right?" Michelle persisted.

"Yeah, I guess I sort of…"

"So stop with the feminist bull, Summer. You've jumped on the chauvinist bandwagon with the rest of us, and, here, we like to refer to it as chivalry."

Summer frowned, looking to her notebook. She'd let him open those doors for her, let him pull her chair out, and help her with her coat. She had sworn once that she would never let a boy go out of his way to just _do_ those things for her, under some assumption he needed to because she was a girl. So for all her lecturing, Michelle was right, she was just spewing feminist bull. Practice what you preach, right?

The bell rang, signaling the end of class and the school day. Summer frowned, feeling her stomach sink. She knew what came next. Band practice. She usually looked forward to band practice, just another part of her day that made the world seem a little saner. But that day would be different. She had written and re-written out exactly what she was going to say. She marched out with Marta beside her, waving as Eleni and Michelle left for their lockers and then their own rides to band practice. The entire gang didn't usually go, but there was an upcoming show scheduled, and Summer wanted to make sure the entire crew knew what was to be expected of them. And then she had that announcement.

As Summer walked down the stairs, seeing Katie in the far distance of the parking lot, sitting on the hood of her car talking with Zack, and Freddy leaning against the car door, she narrowed her focus to Kyle, standing at the bottom of the stairs looking at her. She took a deep breath, Marta noticing him as well and whispering, "I'll see you at the car," in her ear, before taking off.

"Hey," Kyle greeted, meeting Summer partway on the stairs, and slipping an arm around her waist to cradle his hand in the small of her back, brushing his lips against hers, "What are your plans right now?"

"Well, band practice," Summer stammered, trying to clear her now clouded mind, "And then home, and homework."

"Oh," he sounded disappointed.

"Something wrong?" she asked, concerned, looking at him with soft eyes.

"I was just hoping we could hang out, but…"

"Well, when band practice is over," Summer suggested, "It ends at six…but maybe I can get out of it early." _It's not like we need you at every practice. It's not that important. Aren't you kind of useless?_ "No, I know I can get out early. I have your cell number, I'll call you."

"Good," Kyle grinned, pressing another kiss to Summer's lips, before letting her go. She turned back to wave to him and sprinted to Katie's car.

"Freddy needed a lift," Katie greeted, as an explanation to the drummer's sudden appearance. Summer nodded.

"You can sit up front, Summer," Marta announced, jumping off the hood of the car where she'd taken up sitting on the other side of Katie.

"But today is your turn," Summer argued.

"It's alright," Marta assured her, coming to mumble in her ear, "I know you don't really get along with Freddy, and after his behavior at lunch..." Summer flickered a glance to the blonde boy, who was staring impatiently at them as Katie and Zack slid into the car.

"Oh, okay," Summer mumbled, and walked around to the other side to climb into the front passenger seat, while Marta practically jumped in the back. They pulled from the parking lot, the radio dimly playing some unrecognizable song at its decibel level.

"So," Katie said, "What did lover boy want?" Summer blushed, fidgeting with her seatbelt buckle.

"I might hang out with him after practice," she answered.

"Might?"

"Okay, I _am _going to hang out with him after practice."

"Why?" Freddy questioned grumpily from the back. His hair was a little mussed and his shirt ruffled, "Wasn't Friday night enough?"

"As a matter of fact, no," Summer replied haughtily.

"So, what happened to your ride, Freddy?" Marta attempted a subject change. She, as any of the band knew, it was never a good idea to start off band practice with Freddy and Summer angry at one another. Little to nothing ever got done.

"It's not important," he muttered, slumping back in the seat. Which ended that line of conversation quite promptly. There was an uncomfortable silence, that seemed eerie amongst such close friends.

"So, if School of Rock could open for any band of our choice, who would you guys choose?" Zack asked, and while it was out-of-place and stupid, it was a question best friends asked of each other.

"No question, Metallica," Freddy offered.

"Metallica?" Katie shook her head, the disgust in her voice as she said the band name was enough of an explanation as to why she was against them, "KISS, all the way."

"I always thought it would be kind of cool to…um…" Marta started sheepishly, "Well, I always wanted to open for STYX." Groans resounded throughout the car.

"STYX? Come on, Marta," Zack laughed, "There are so many hardcore bands to choose from, and you select _STYX_? They're okay, I guess, but jeez…"

"Oh, and who would you choose?" Marta shot back. And Zack shrugged.

"Oh, I don't know. There's so many greats. Zeppelin, the Stones, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Guns 'n Roses…" his eyes glazed over dreamily.

"Don't drool on my seats, please," Katie called back, and Zack snapped out of it, blushing slightly, "And what about Grateful Dead?" More groans.

"Katie, you're a closet deadhead?" Zack questioned, looking to her almost hurt.

"Black Sabbath would be cool," Freddy put in.

Katie pulled up next to the curb, and parked. They all filed out, heading up towards the apartment building they knew so well, the familiar "School of Rock" sign swinging on its post. Summer trailed behind, her heart pounding desperately in her chest. She was forgetting how to breath, with every step she took up towards Dewey's apartment. The others had long since left her alone in the hall, and she hesitated at touching that doorknob. She took a deep breath, hearing Zack and Katie begin tuning their guitars, hearing the wild rants and shouts of Dewey, the bang and clang of tentative taps on a drum, and the heavy laughter and flitting chatter of everyone in the apartment. She pushed the door open, setting her things down on the counter in the kitchen. She looked out at the group of mismatched kids that entirely made up the School of Rock band. Michelle and Eleni were chattering excitedly with Alicia. Marco, Gordie, Frankie, and Leonard were talking, from the sounds of it, about the best lighting for the show, Billy appeared to be giving Zack and Katie fashion advice, Tomika was chatting with Lawrence, who had placed a finger in the book he'd been reading to give her his utmost attention, and Marta was helping Freddy set-up his drums, giggling at something he'd said.

Summer felt like an outsider, as though she were watching them all through a glass window. Maybe a television set. That if she reached forward, her hand would pang against a pane of glass. She sighed, as Dewey strode from the bathroom, fully clothed and looking ready to rock. She cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, everyone," she announced, and the group fell silent, looking to her at last, "I have something to discuss with you all before we begin." She received blank stares, as though they couldn't understand what she was saying. Was she speaking English?

"You heard the boss," Dewey shouted, "Gather round kids." With shuffling movements, everyone obeyed, leaving instruments behind to sit on the couch or stand around it. Summer took a deep breath, walking to stand in front of them all, clipboard in hand. They all stared at her, bored, expectant, impatient, and curious all at once.

"Um…" she'd had everything planned out at school. She knew exactly what she was going to say, and suddenly it was gone from her head. She had it written in front of her, plastered to her clipboard, and somehow, she'd forgotten how to read. Her vision was blurry. Did she need glasses? She looked about at all the faces of her friends and band mates, then looked back down to the paper, staring at it as a focal point, as she shakily began, "As you all know, my date with Kyle was this past Friday…" That received unwarranted groans, and the people began to break back towards what they were doing.

"You called us all to attention to tell us about your date?" Freddy cried, incredulous.

"Summer, this is band practice, not _gossip hour_," Dewey moaned.

"That was last Friday?" Marco asked of no one in particular.

"It's important," Summer snarled, and her suddenly iced over stare forced everyone into statue like stances, "I am not going to tell you about my date with Kyle!" She took another deep breath, trying to settle her nerves. A few of the more observant band members noted how her clipboard was trembling, and her knees buckling somewhat, that her knuckles had turned white from grasping the clipboard in front of her as though it was life itself, "Kyle is a part of a band, a _really good band_, that he took me to see a recording session for. They're signed with a record deal, and have a CD coming out and a music video in the making," confused whisperings began to arise, and Summer quickly silenced them, "They've asked me to be their manager."

"That's really awesome," Dewey encouraged, and some of the group offered up words of agreement. Summer felt her heart drop. They were happy for her? They don't seem to care, she thought, that someone else has asked you to leave them. She lowered her eyes, her clipboard drooping in front of her legs, feeling overwhelmed with heartbreak until Zack spoke.

"If anyone can manage two bands at once, Summer, it'd definitely be you."

Summer didn't know whether to feel elated or to burst into tears. They didn't understand what she was saying. She took another breath, more haggard then the last, unsteady, and slumped somewhat.

"No, even _I_ can't manage two bands at once," she whispered, so quietly she was afraid no one had heard her. But at least one person had.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Freddy demanded, though his tone suggested he already knew. She sniffed, looked up with a half-hearted smile.

"I would have to decide between School of Rock and the Barber Boys," she answered solemnly and the air stiffened.

"Oh," Katie grinned, "So how'd he take it when you told him no?" Relief washed through the room, and slight chuckles broke out.

"Obviously he doesn't mind that you turned him down, as he still wants to be with you," Tomika added.

"That was evident at lunch," Marta grinned, drawing out groans from the three boys that were present at the event. Summer chewed her bottom lip, watching as the group broke into chatter and laughter, talking about how she'd had them going there for a moment. She took one final deep breath. She wasn't sure she could take the pressure on her chest anymore.

"I haven't told him no," she stated, and it rang clear. Everyone was silent. And then like a wave, they roared.

"What do you mean you haven't told him 'no'?" Katie cried.

"What are you talking about? You're not seriously considering this?" Zack shouted.

"You were our manager first," Lawrence put in quietly.

"Girl, you better march your goddamned ass down to that boy's house and tell him 'no'," Alicia yelled.

"What is this about Summer? This is a joke right, good one…" Dewey was saying.

"Does that mean you said 'yes'," Freddy's comment was the quietest, calmly spoken, but it rang loudest in everyone's ears. They were silent once again, peering at Summer.

"I told him…I told him I'd think about it," she whispered, feeling like she'd just plunged a knife into all of their backs. From the looks on their faces, they all did as well, "It's a big chance, that I can't just toss away. I have to seriously think about what I'd be doing, seriously consider the opportunity I'll be slamming the door on," she began, feeling a sudden need to argue her point, "They're a good band, they have a record deal, they'll be going on tour, they'll be…"

"That's a load of bullshit," Freddy spat, "You make it sound like you're going to turn him down, like you have some loyalty to us, or something like that. But the truth is, if you really did, you would have said 'no' without having to think about anything. You don't care about School of Rock, you just care about furthering your fucking 'career'." Everyone was quiet, looking at their shoes, the wall, the floor, the ceiling, anything but Summer. And Freddy's eyes bore into her own. She looked away, as tears began down her cheeks, and she licked her lips to taste the salt.

"It's not that easy a decision," she stated flatly.

"How's it not that easy a decision?" Freddy shot back, "If School of Rock really meant anything to you, you would have already said 'no'. But you didn't. You're still Summer Hathaway, looking to get the most gold stars and the straight A's. You were never about the fucking music, you never gave a damn about…"

"Maybe it's not about what School of Rock means to me," Summer interrupted, shouting shrilly, "Maybe it's about what I mean to School of Rock!" She spun abruptly, not wanting to break down in front of all of them, and ran to snatch up her pack, leaving the apartment in a rush. She failed to close the door behind her completely, but didn't care, and raced down the stairs blinded by her own rage and tears and anger and sadness. They could all hear the door of the apartment complex slam shut behind her, but they couldn't see her sink to the ground outside, overcome with grief and choking on her sobs.

"Oh man," Dewey mumbled, falling to the couch, "Oh man." The kids were silent. Freddy began walking away towards the door. "Where are you going?"

"To bang on something," Freddy muttered, shutting the door and snatching up his drumsticks. He fell heavily into his stool, and everyone's frustration and confusion was quickly punctuated by the rhythm of his angry and random beats. It would have been a great performance, if his audience wasn't clouded over with misery.

* * *

END A/N: Ah...the first of many huge fights between Freddy and Summer. I think this is where I forgot to mention, "Dewey and Mr. Salvatore are (as well) opposites in their own rights. Dewey is cool, chubby, passionate about the music. Mr. Salvatore is thin, blonde, and passionate about making money and sucking up to his superiors. They both played a role in bringing their "bands" together. Yada, yada, yada..." I don't remember what else I said. 

If you're wondering why my "A/N's" are so damn short, well, I have a hunch they might of had something to do with my story getting taken down, because they did get a little long (psh...whatever...my chapters are longer than most any other authors on this site...) so I'm toning them down, I guess. And, I just woke up, so my brains not awake yet.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. Once again, I would love to have _**REVIEW**_s for every chapter (even if you've reviewed them before, or just want to read all the story because I'm posting it all now)...I'm just so totally bummed I lost all those reviews.

THanks for Reading.


	4. One Is Silver and the Other's Gold

A/N: I was really surprised, with this story, how the characters spoke to me. A lot of things came out from all ends. Most specifically, Katie, Lawrence, Zack, and Freddy. Summer wasn't too mucha surprise, but Freddy is altering somewhat.I had their home lives both planned out, and then I went to Freddy's house, and I was completely wrong about a lot of things...

I know, I sound weird. Characters talking to me and whatnot...I read an interview with Ray Bradbury, and he was talking about how his characters tell him the story, and I was like...DUDE! That's what my characters do for me...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 4: One Is Silver and the Other's Gold

It took nearly an hour and a half for the full weight of Summer's words to press down on the rest of the School of Rock gang. By then, Freddy was obviously worn, drenched in sweat. Every now and then he would slam his drumstick against a cymbal or a snare drum, taking deep breaths. Zack had taken to retuning his guitar, then putting it out of tune, and putting it back in tune. Katie was sitting on the couch, her head resting in her hands, hair sprawled about her face. Lawrence was staring at his open book, looking very much like he was reading, though he hadn't flipped the page in all that time. Gordie was clicking on random icons on his laptop, closing the windows and opening new ones. The rest of the group found other things to stare at, found other ways to sit, found other means of enhancing the ominous silence. Dewey himself had pulled out a bottle of beer, though he didn't like to drink in front of the kids, he was now silently sipping at it.

"What do we do?" Katie finally asked. Everyone was startled by her voice, hoarse from being silent so long. They stared at her, as though the words were foreign, as though in stun that she could speak, almost as though they'd never heard speech before.

"What _can _we do?" Zack retorted, pausing from trying to get the third string of his guitar in tune with the fourth.

"I'm sure she'd appreciate an apology," Katie snapped, looking meaningfully at Freddy, who returned the glare.

"She doesn't deserve one," Marta spoke up, "Freddy was right. If she was going to say 'no' she would have done it already."

"That doesn't change the fact that he was really cruel to her," Tomika put in, "Some of the things he said were really uncalled for. We all know Summer has sacrificed a great deal for us…"

"Like what? Precious study time?" Freddy spat.

"Yes. Think of all the books she could have read, were it not for us," Frankie mocked, "We don't need her, what does she really do around here?"

"What do _you _really do around here?" Katie bit back.

"Yeah, besides sitting around flirting with Michelle," Alicia joined in, both teens blushed, "Which brings me to, what does _Michelle _really do around here?"

"She's just not saying 'no' because she doesn't want to hurt her boyfriend's feelings," Freddy muttered with disgust, "Why are you guys sticking up for someone who wants to throw us all away for some guy. She's just putting on some show so we don't hate her or feel bad or some crap like that, it's all so fucking fake…"

"You're really not the one who should be lecturing on feelings," Eleni interjected, "Seeing as how you disregard those of the entire female population."

"Oh, and like you're so innocent."

"I never said I was, but at least I'm not spouting out whiny crap about how Summer shouldn't be as sensitive to other's feelings. Face it, Freddy, she cares about other people. She cares so much it scares the hell out of you because you've never cared for one goddamned person in your entire life besides yourself."

"You better watch it," Freddy growled, on his feet. Eleni smirked at him. She'd struck a nerve that time.

"_Maybe it's about what I mean to School of Rock_," Lawrence mumbled under his breath, and suddenly all eyes were on him.

"What did you say?" Zack questioned and Lawrence flushed, quietly shutting his book, and pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

"It was what Summer said," he clarified, his voice slightly above a whisper, "_Maybe it's about what I mean to School of Rock._ I was just wondering what she meant by it." Abruptly, Katie stood, crossing the room and slapping Freddy upside the head.

"Ow, now what the hell was that one for?" he demanded, glowering down at her. She stared defiantly back.

"Don't you get it?" Katie asked, looking around angrily at everyone in the room, "It's not about what we mean to her, that has nothing to do with her not saying 'no'! It's about what she means to all of us!"

"Now you're just not making any sense," Billy whined, "Aren't you just repeating what she said?"

"I don't know about you guys, but it sure as hell sounds like she feels unappreciated to me," Katie hissed.

"Well that can't be true," Zack argued, "I mean, we treat her the same as always."

"Well, maybe that's not how she wants to be treated," Katie replied, matter-of-factly, "Look guys, think about it. When's the last time any of you guys thanked her? For even the little things she did, like reminding us all to study for a test, or helping us with homework problems we didn't understand?" There was uncomfortable shifting, "Or said hi to her, just to say hi! Or asked her how her goddamned day was? When's the last time any of you showed a smidgeon of concern for how she is, and how's she's doing, and how she feels?" With a heavy sigh, Katie slouched back on the couch, head hung low, "Hell, when's the last time _I_ have?"

"So we're the jerks?" Freddy asked, but no one answered. It was as if the room itself was downcast.

"I've been thinking, guys," Dewey finally spoke, and some eyes were lifted in interest. He pulled himself from where he'd been sitting, leaving the half-finished beer behind, and walking to stand in the center of the group, "You've all made good points, but I think Katie's right. We have kind of been giving Tinkerbell the short end of the stick lately. She did have the dignity to come and tell us about this offer, and we have to admit, it's a great offer for her. And she did have the decency to tell us that it was a possibility, her leaving us for them, and to not to make a decision, like saying 'yes', without telling us about it first. Maybe jumping down her throat wasn't the best of solutions…" he looked around, lips pursed, brows arched, and eyes wide.

"So what do we do?" Zack questioned.

"I don't know," Dewey admitted, throwing his hands up to annunciate his despair.

"Well, first we'd have to apologize to her," Katie spoke up, "All of us, not just Freddy. While he may have been an arrogant, obnoxious, insensitive, overbearing…"

"They get the point, Katie," Freddy sneered.

"…jerk," she finished, sticking her tongue out at him before continuing, "We all kind of reacted badly. She came to us for support and understanding, and we stuffed it back down her throat."

"And then maybe we could actually support her," Michelle broke in, "Tell her that we're behind her, no matter the decision she makes."

"And we have to actually mean it, too," Tomika added.

"And we need to tell her how happy we are for her," Alicia put in.

"And then," Eleni joined, "We have to start treating her better. Not like a doormat, but like the good person she is."

"Like, you guys could smile at her when she comes around, even if it's to tell you to do something, because we know she only has the best intentions at heart," Katie took up the mantle of speaker once more, "And I guess…take a moment to acknowledge that she exists, and not wait until she looks like she has one foot in the grave or is on-the-edge schitzo before asking her if she's okay. And ask her how her day was, and listen when she tells you, and…maybe you could just not talk at all, Freddy."

"This is all girlie crap," Frankie moaned.

"No, no, listen to them," Dewey cut in, "It all makes sense, it all sounds good."

"Even the part where I don't talk?" Freddy inquired, arms folded over his chest, drumsticks still in hand.

"_Especially _the part where you don't talk," Dewey cried dramatically, "Because come on guys, if we don't do this, we run the risk of losing a really awesome manager, and more importantly, a really good friend."

0-0-

Summer dragged herself to her feet, after a long bout of crying. She realized it wasn't getting her anywhere, and was only making her head hurt and gaining her some rather odd stares. She didn't know how long she'd been crying, and had forgotten to put her watch on that morning. She didn't want band practice to let out and everyone to find her downstairs, crying pathetically. So she stumbled away, tracing fingers under her eyes, and touching their tips to her soaked cheeks. She probably looked a mess. She tugged her cell phone from her pocket, looking at it remotely. The time was boldly lettered, practice didn't let out for another hour. There were three messages from Kyle. She usually turned her phone on vibrate during practice, as she couldn't hear the ring tone over the band playing anyways, but she hadn't even felt the small phone go off. She clicked on his number, holding her finger poised over the dial button, before closing the phone and tucking it back in her pocket.

The bus stop was a few blocks away, and Summer practically fell on the bench. She pulled her wallet from her pack, opening it and counting the change. She'd never ridden the bus before, didn't even know how much money she needed, and which bus to get on. She shoved her wallet back in her pack, glancing at the seedy looking figures standing around her, and holding the pack closer to her chest. She felt numb, from the crying, and the pain of the argument she'd had with her friends. You're not that important to them anyways, she thought bitterly, why do they care so much if you manage another band. Because they're your friends, she silently gave in, because for six years the band has been as much they're life as yours. Because, you were their manager first, like Lawrence said. Summer pouted, jutting out her chin, that was it. They just didn't want change, it doesn't change the fact that they think you're really useless to them.

_The manager _is _the band_. Kyle wouldn't think you were useless, Summer told herself. She ran her hands over her cheeks, wiping away the saturation, and tucked her hair behind her ears. She nearly jumped when her phone went off. She retrieved it, and stared blankly at the screen and the number she dimly recognized. She didn't want to answer it, but she knew she had to. She opened the phone, and brought it to her ear.

"Hello, Katie," she whispered unhappily.

"Summer? Where are you?"

"Why?"

"Did you get a ride?" Katie pressed, her tone high-pitched somewhat, drowning with concern and worry, "Did your mom come pick you up?"

"No. I'm going to walk home," Summer answered quietly, her stomach giving a great lurch. Her house was a ways away, and she wasn't even sure she knew exactly how to get there on foot. There was silence on the other end of the line.

"Where are you?" Katie asked again, her voice steadfast and demanding.

"I'm sitting at the bus stop around the corner from Dewey's. I was going to ride the bus, but I don't know how…stupid, huh? Brilliant Summer Hathaway doesn't even know how to ride a bus."

"Stay right there, Summer, I'm coming," Katie said, and Summer was startled.

"What? Why?"

"Because there's no way I'm letting you walk home alone, not in this city, not in this neighborhood, not in this life," Katie growled, "Stay _right _where you are, I'll be there in a few minutes."

"I thought you were mad at…"

"You're the closest thing I have to a best friend," Katie interrupted, "I could be mad at you beyond forgiveness, and still _never _let you walk home alone."

"I don't know, Katie…what about…"

"They'll get a ride from Dewey or any of the other band members," Katie cut her off, already surmising what the problem was; Zack, Marta, and Freddy, "Now, I'm in my car, I'm starting the engine up, you better be there when I come, or I will hunt you down and force you to accept a ride from me."

"I'll be here," Summer smiled, closing the phone and putting it away.

It only took a few moments for Katie's car to pull up to the curb, and Summer hopped into the front seat. She didn't know how to greet Katie, or whether they were even on good enough terms that she could smile at her. But Katie was frowning out the windshield, so Summer decided it was best to remain silent as she buckled her belt. They drove along in distant quiet, like a wall was between them. It was hard on Summer. She would rather of walked home than sit in that car wondering at all the awful things Katie was probably thinking about her.

"I'm sorry," Katie finally croaked, and Summer was more than taken aback. She had expected anger, yelling, screaming, a self-righteous rant even, but not that swimmingly saddened apology. Tears began to pour down the normally stoic young woman's cheeks, and she looked to Summer as they stopped at a red light, her eyes shining with uncertainty, "I know we…we…were pretty…wrong in taking your news. But you…this…School of Rock is the best thing that's happened to most, if not all of us. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me. I have friends, Summer, people I can sit with and talk to and laugh. I used to sit in the library at lunch, did you know that?"

"No, I didn't," Summer mumbled, feeling a horrible lump settling at the bottom of her stomach.

"So then you have to promise me something."

"What?"

Katie took a deep breath, licking her lips and meeting Summer's eyes with all seriousness, brown orbs covered in pain and that shy veil that usually hid the darker girl's emotions was suddenly gone. Everything was pouring out of that look, mostly her desperation and fear, almost pleading.

"That no matter what you choose, you and I will still be friends," Katie whispered and Summer let a relieved smile slip across her face. She flung her arms around Katie's neck, and the embrace was reluctantly returned.

"Of course, Katie, always," Summer cried, hot tears falling on her shoulder and seeping through her shirt. She pulled away, wiping the tears from her own face, and then Katie's. They were smiling now, giggling at the seeming ridiculousness of the tension that had sat between them mere seconds before.

"Look at us, we're such ditz-es," Katie commented, laughing and Summer nodded, wiping at her damp nose. There was an impatient honk behind them, and Katie turned back to the front, seeing the light had turned green and the cars that had been in front of them were long since gone. She put her foot on the gas, continuing driving, as they laughed again. Summer settled back into the car seat, at ease now.

"I guess I didn't really give the news that well as it is," Summer sighed, flicking a strand of hair from her face, "I could have gone about it better. Oh, I planned and I planned…but…standing up there, I felt like I was betraying all of them."

"I think we would concur that emotion," Katie mumbled lightly, smiling to show she was teasing.

"I just knew, no matter what I said," Summer went on, appreciating the return of her friend's sarcastic humor, "You would all take it wrong. It really isn't that easy for me to decide. Maybe if I was older, had more resources, I could manage both bands, but I can't."

"So you're seriously thinking about taking Kyle up on the offer," Katie questioned, trying to hide the bitter hurt in her tone.

"It's a really big opportunity," Summer sighed, "They're recording artists, there'd be a lot of work for me. It would be huge…you know, I'd be the youngest manager of a signed band?"

"So the overachiever in you really wants this," Katie concluded.

"A lot, a lot, a lot," Summer confirmed, then sighing, "And you should have seen Kyle when I was going to turn him down. He looked so disappointed, so hurt…"

"So Freddy wasn't far off? That this is partially because you don't want to hurt your new boy's feelings?"

Summer's hair stood on end at the mention of the drummer. She scowled, rigidly running her fingers through her hair.

"Freddy Jones," she scoffed, "Don't even mention that…pompous…arrogant…appallingly insensitive…"

"Whoa, calm down, Summer," Katie soothed, pulling onto Summer's street and stopping the car in front of her house, "Remember how I mentioned that School of Rock is the best thing that's happened to most of us? Him especially. Now, I'm not agreeing with what he said, and I sure as hell am not defending how he said it, but try and see things from his viewpoint. Maybe he felt like you possibly leaving was a threat to the best thing that's ever happened to him?"

"I guess," Summer muttered, "But it wouldn't be though. If I did choose to leave - which I'm not saying I am - School of Rock would still live on."

"Maybe it just scared him," Katie suggested, "That if you left, then others could leave as well."

"Freddy Jones? _Scared?_"

Katie grinned, "I guess it does seem far-fetched." They looked out at the Hathaway house, somewhat regrettably, "You call Kyle?"

"He's called me a few times," Summer answered, "But I'm not really in the mood to hang out with him today. I guess I'll call him and tell him that."

"Okay, cool."

"Um…Katie," Summer started, shifting uncomfortably, not sure why the question she was about to ask was so difficult. Maybe because she'd never had any of the band members over to her house before. They'd seen the outside, when coming to pick her up or drop her off, but that was about it, "You want to hang out for awhile? Talk? I think there's a pint of chocolate ice cream in the freezer."

"Summer, you just said the magic words, chocolate and ice cream," Katie grinned, killing the engine, and jumping from the car. She came to the other side, opening the passenger side door, and offering a hand to help Summer out. Both girls laughed, skipping arm and arm up the walkway, joking with one another, and appearing very much like best friends having the time of their lives.

0-0-

The next day, Summer had opted for a ride on the bus, rather then her usual carpool with Katie, mainly because she wasn't sure she was ready to see the rest of the band yet, or if they even wanted to see her. But she was surprised to find, that within ten minutes of entering the school, most of the band members quickly approached her, apologized, and oddly out-of-place, a lot of them asked if she was okay. A few of the members seemed to avoid her, most specifically Marta and Frankie, but she was incredibly shocked, to find Freddy leaning against the lockers near her own. Somehow, he managed to look as though that just happened to be where he decided to stand, and a couple of girls were talking to him, flirting more like. He returned their attention with smiles, and flirtations of his own. But he kept darting glances down the hall as though he were waiting for someone, and straightened considerably when he saw Summer making her way down.

Trying to maintain an air of dignity, Summer approached her locker with what she hoped was a natural glide down the hall. She fidgeted with her lock, twisting and turning it, trying to appear as though she hadn't just forgotten the combination. She heard Freddy saying good-bye to the girls, who sounded disappointed that he wasn't interested in keeping with their conversation, so they remained standing around him, hoping he'd turn back to them. But he leaned against the locker, staring at Summer instead, his arms crossed over his chest. She focused on ignoring him, narrowed her eyes at her lock. Three was the first number, she recalled…or was it nine? She couldn't concentrate with him breathing down her neck like that, and she suddenly slammed the locker and turned to face him, lips pursed.

"_What _do you want?" she demanded. He smiled, amused, and evidently satisfied with himself.

"To say 'hi', Gidget," he answered smoothly. Summer's eyes squeezed into murderous slits.

"Freddy Jones, what in the ever-loving world would make you think I would be interested in pleasant greetings from you?" she snapped, then as a last minute thought, "And don't call me Gidget!"

"Don't tell me you're mad about what I said, Gidget."

"No, I'm not mad," Summer seethed, "I'm infuriated! I am livid! How dare you presume to know my intentions…"

"You know I'm supposed to apologize to you," Freddy interrupted, and her teeth clattered as her mouth slammed shut, "But I'm not going to. Because I meant it. And it was the truth, wasn't it? Everything I said? So how can you be mad about the truth? I should be mad at you."

"Oh yes, you're right," Summer dripped sarcastically, "You hit it right on the nail, there. I guess you have it all figured out. Now if you don't mind, I have to get to class," and as if to prove her point the bell rang. She moved to push past him, and his hand caught hold of her waist, pushing her back to the lockers. She slammed gently against the cold metal, causing it to shake, and she was startled. He didn't look happy, and all signs of joviality was gone from his face. People moved passed, hurrying to class, and ignoring them all together. Her heart pounded rapidly in her chest, pushing the blood to her head and pressing it against her cheeks. She didn't like the sudden movement, and she hated how his hand held her firmly in place against those lockers, the warmth of its touch burning the skin of her belly where it rested. She couldn't form words, mentally demanding of him what he wanted, but disappointed as he didn't seem to have mind-reading abilities of any sort.

Freddy loosened slightly, seeing the fear suddenly jump in Summer's eyes. He hadn't meant to scare her. He didn't know what he'd meant to do. He was sure he had more to say, that they're conversation hadn't been over as far as he was concerned, but at the moment, he couldn't think why or what more there was to say. He had told her everything he'd set out to tell her, and then some. Sure, he hadn't planned the conversation out, he never did, that was a Summer thing. But he knew what he had wanted to get off his chest. There was nothing else to say, no reason for him to hold her there.

"Of course you have to get to class," he attempted at taunting her, quickly scrambling for an excuse, "Always have to be the goody-two-shoes, huh? You really weren't cut out for rock, babe." A few doors slammed in the distance as the last of the students disappeared into their classes, leaving the two alone in the hall.

"You're making me late," Summer stammered.

"God forbid."

"I mean it, Freddy Jones, let me go this instant," Summer whispered roughly, and after a moment's deliberation, he obliged. She straightened her blouse, pushed her hair behind her ears and turned down the hall towards her classroom.

"Hey, Summer," Freddy called and she paused, "Before you decide to leave School of Rock, how 'bout sticking it to The Man one last time with me?" She turned, to eye him curiously, and he smiled. He had her, "I don't have my homework done and I haven't studied for that math test, anyways, so there's really no point for me to go to class."

"Are you suggesting we skip school," Summer questioned, not sounding incredibly pleased with the idea. Freddy grinned at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, I'm inviting you to _join me _as _I_ skip school. Don't tell me you've turned into such a prude, you're even above ditching once in awhile."

Summer pressed her lips together, hands on hips. She glanced at her classroom down the hall, and the late bell rang, echoing throughout the building and ringing in her ears. Then she met Freddy's eyes.

* * *

END A/N: You know what would be totally awesome? A School of Rock goes to Las Vegas fic...I would totally read that! Actually, I'm thinking of writing one myself. It's working it's way into my head, developing incredibly! I don't know when I'd write it though, between returning to A Simple Kiss updates and considering finishing my Recess fic (that I just _left_ hanging...those reviewers were not happy...)

AUGH! Will she ditch? Will she ditch? The suspense must be killing all of you...! Unless you read it already...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. PLEASE _**REVIEW**_!

THanks for Reading.


	5. Playing Hooky Is Bad

A/N: Oh yeah! This chapter got a lot done. We get to see...um...maybe I shouldn't talk about it, seeing as how some people haven't read yet.

OH! I bought a new guitar the other day! I was so stoked. I got an electric, it's an Orange County Chopper. It's so pretty...for the price I got it at, it was a good deal (only a hundred bucks). One of the music stores in my city was having a huge sale. Everything was half off or more. I also got a fifteen watt amp (just something to start with). I really, really, really love my new guitar. Not to mention, the guy who helped me buy it, was kind of cute. Maybe it was the fact he could play the guitar, or maybe because he had this whole Sean Astin charisma going on...but I thought he was cute.

Anyways...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 5: Playing Hooky Is Bad

Marta crossed the cafeteria, taking her seat at the usual School of Rock table. Zack and Katie were already there, talking about guitar strings or something along those lines. Michelle and Eleni were chatting and laughing, mostly gossiping, and Tomika was trading parts of her lunch with Frankie.

"Hey guys," she greeted, receiving nods of acknowledgment. She took her seat, beginning in on her lunch, "Freddy ditched," she said flatly.

"We know," Katie informed her, "He wasn't in English."

"Or math," Zack put in.

"Or science," Tomika piped.

"Yeah," Marta mumbled, a little sheepishly. She should have figured they'd all know already. She opened her bag of chips, popping one in her mouth, as everyone resumed talking. She tapped her foot, ate a few more chips, brushed her hair from her eyes, "Aren't any of you at least mad, or worried, or something, that he's not at school?" she finally asked, impatient.

"Why would we be?" Zack questioned reasonably, "It's not like this is the first time he's done this."

"I guess not," Marta muttered, and the next part fell from her mouth before she could stop it, "Don't you guys wish he would stop, or something?"

"Okay, apparently we're supposed to talk about Freddy," Katie announced, and everyone straightened with mock looks of interest, "So let's chat about Freddy."

"Oh my," Frankie exclaimed tauntingly, "He's not here today. What ever will we do?"

"Not here today?" Michelle teasingly gasped, "Where could he be?"

"Freddy, partake in such a delinquent act as playing hooky? Never," Zack threw in, and Marta slumped in her chair, cradling her chin in her hand.

"Okay, guys, I get it," she muttered, "Sheesh. You guys don't even sound like you care…"

"We do care, Marta," Zack interjected, "We just don't have the energy to care about every little stupid thing he does."

"Well, I do," Marta muttered as quietly as she could, before turning a deep red, and preoccupying herself with her food. No one felt the need to question the behavior, most overlooking it anyways. Alicia came up to sit in between Marta and Michelle, her eyes alight with what was obviously juicy news.

"Summer isn't at school today," she beamed, and everyone stared at her in shock.

"Yes, she is. I saw her this morning," Eleni protested, "We talked for, like, two minutes."

"Well," Alicia took a deep breath, smiling despite the grave severity of what she was saying, "According to a reliable source, she was last seen at her locker this morning talking with Freddy, or arguing more like it. And then, she was gone." Zack looked to Marta.

"Now, _this _is a stupid thing we have the energy to care about," he told her. She frowned at her food.

"I'm going to check the restrooms," Katie sighed, pushing herself up.

"For what?" a few of the band mates questioned.

"What else? Summer," Katie shrugged, "If what Alicia says is true…" Alicia looked hurt at the implication anything she'd say would be false, "Then Summer's probably upset and locked herself in some restroom somewhere."

"She probably deserved whatever he said to her," Marta commented, "Have you all completely forgotten yesterday…I sure as hell am not going to apologize to her. I mean, after what she's thinking of doing to all of us."

"Summer's one of your best friends, Marta," Katie snapped, "Why are you acting so pretentious about this whole thing? You could at least be happy for…"

"Hey, have you guys seen Summer?" a young man's voice interrupted the group, "You're her friends, right?" They all turned, Kyle standing in front of them, staring expectantly.

"We were just about ready to go find her, actually," Katie admitted, attempting a warm smile. The rest of the group, however, narrowed their eyes at him in unwelcome glares. First he wants to be Summer's boyfriend, then he wants her to be his manager, and now he dared to ask them where she was. Who did this boy think he was, coming to steal their Summer away?

"What's going on?" Kyle questioned, easily picking up on the thickly tense atmosphere.

"Summer's probably around…" Katie began, with a nervous chuckle. She knew Kyle's past with Freddy, and had no intention of mentioning the drummer's name in regards to Summer's sudden disappearance.

"She was supposed to meet me for lunch. I've tried calling her cell phone. She picked up once, and some guy told her to hang up…I thought she might be in a class somewhere, maybe working on a project, and you all might be able to tell me," Kyle began. Katie felt her stomach fall, and the looks on the rest of the band members' faces suggested they were piecing things together as well.

"Um…this guy that told her to hang up…he didn't sound…like a blonde drummer with a habit of causing trouble, did he?" Oh, Katie didn't want to ask that question, and she really didn't want him to answer it. Kyle narrowed his eyes at her, obviously confused, "Never mind…"

"Do you know where Summer is, or not?"

"She wouldn't," Marta protested, staring at Katie with wide eyes, "He wouldn't."

"Who wouldn't _what_?" Kyle demanded, "Where's Summer? Do any of you know…?"

"Oh, no, of course not, dude," Zack lied, whispering to Katie, "Go call them." Kyle looked between the group a moment, before seeming satisfied with the answer and turning to leave. The gang let out their breaths as a collective whole, until…

"You guys cannot possibly be thinking that she ditched with him," Marta cried, exasperated, and the others went wide-eyed as Kyle was brought to a sudden halt.

"Marta," Zack hissed, and the others shook their heads at her. She looked confused, hurt even.

"But you guys, Freddy was really pissed off with Summer, there's no way he'd skip school with her," she continued. Kyle leaned on the table, looking dangerously at them all.

"Freddy? As in, Freddy Jones?" And Marta saw her mistake.

0-0-

"Freddy," Summer cried, jogging to keep up with the boy's quick pace, "Freddy Jones, will you slow down! Where are we going?" Freddy paused, looked back at her.

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?"

Summer gave an exasperated cry. She fell to the curb, tired. They'd been walking for at least fifteen minutes since leaving school, and she wasn't certain where they were headed. Now to find out Freddy himself had no idea where they were going…she just hated the randomness of it all. The only surprises she liked were pop quizzes.

"What do you usually do when you ditch?" Summer questioned, staring up at Freddy expectantly. He shrugged, fell down to sit beside her.

"Go home…get wasted," he shrugged.

"No, seriously," Summer insisted. He frowned, raising an eyebrow.

"I am being serious. I go home, I get wasted. Did you want to do that?" He was joking, of course, but Summer still made a disgusted face, standing up abruptly and looking longingly back in the direction of the school. Freddy groaned, "Don't tell me you want to go back!"

"I…well…" Summer frowned, looking down at her uniform, "I…want to go home and change, is all." Freddy brightened, standing up beside her as she turned to face him, "I mean, we can't very well skip out on school and walk around in our uniforms, right?"

"Great," Freddy grinned, putting his hands on her shoulders and steering her further away from Horace Green campus. He seemed to know where a bus stop was, nearby a grocery store a few blocks from the school. In fact, he seemed to know the area fairly well.

Summer frowned, staring in awe at the advertisements surrounding the grated bench, covered in graffiti. A woman was sitting on the bench, the only other person waiting at the stop. She was elderly, gray hair pulled back in a little bun, a musty coat hanging over her shoulders, wrinkled hands, dark skin, and a grocery bag sitting in her lap. Summer moved closer to Freddy as a group of boys, their age, came up to the bench. They were probably students from a local high school, she realized. They looked like they belonged in prison, she thought, with their oversized jeans, greased hair stlyes, loose shirts and loud mouths. Freddy gave her a quizzical look, glanced at the boys, and grinned somewhat, slinging an arm over her shoulders. She jumped, as a vibration went off in her pack.

"What is that?" Freddy asked, and Summer hastily removed her cell phone, flipping it open and pressing it to her ear.

"Hello…" she began into the phone, when Freddy's hand encompassed her own and pulled it away, covering the mouthpiece as best he could.

"Hang up, right now," he hissed, and their bus-waiting companions gave them wary glances.

"Why?" Summer questioned, confused.

"_Now!_"

Summer closed the cell phone, shoving it back in her pack. She glowered up at Freddy, who was in turn, glowering down at her.

"Summer, how often do you answer your cell at school?" Freddy asked in an insistent whisper, and realization dawned on her. She shrugged, smiling sheepishly, and was startled when the bus pulled up.

"Come on," Freddy called, heading towards the open door. She stood gaping.

"We're riding the bus?" she asked dumbly.

Freddy rolled his eyes, grabbing Summer's hand and dragging her up the dirty steps. He dropped some change from his pocket into a black box beside the driver and led the awestruck girl to the back. The bus was empty for the most part, what with it being late morning. Most people were at work or school. They took a seat beside one another on the hard plastic bench, and the rest of the people who'd been waiting filed on, dropping their change in the Fare-box and taking seats of their own.

"This bus should take us to a stop a few blocks from your house," Freddy said, knowledgably, and Summer simply nodded, stupefied. She stared out at the bus, entranced.

The boys from the bus stop were laughing and talking loudly, while the old woman sat patiently, grasping her bag to herself. The bus driver was a middle-aged man, wearing his blue uniform and blue hat, looking like a squashed can turned upside down. Gray squiggles of hair sprouted out from under that cap, and he leaned more than held onto the large wheel of the bus. A giant beer-gut spilled out over his lap, and he sighed every now and then. He waited a few more moments, before swinging the door shut and pulling back out onto the road. Summer broke from her trance, looking around in shock.

"Are there no seatbelts?" she asked, feeling around on the plastic chair as if thinking one would magically appear beneath her fingertips. Freddy glanced at her, a bemused smirk on his face.

"Haven't you ever ridden a bus before?" he asked and Summer blushed furiously. Was he laughing at her?

"The school buses, yes," she pointed out, and he shook his head.

"Oh, well you got me there," he mocked, leaning back leisurely, and stretching out his legs. One pressed against Summer's, and while she flushed, he seemed not to notice; closing his eyes and looking ready to take a nap.

"My mom says that girls get raped when they ride the bus," Summer blurted out in a low whisper, as though she needed to explain why she was naïve on the matter of riding buses. He opened one eye to look at her, trying to discern if she was serious. He grinned, closing it again.

"Yeah, it's like, tradition. Whenever a girl steps on, the guys just pounce her," he joked, and Summer congealed where she sat, winding her hands around one another. They turned pinkish white, from being held so tightly. She stared at them. Freddy brushed his hand against her cheek, tucking her hair behind her ear, and she smiled at the comforting motion, "Don't worry, Summer. I'll protect you from being raped," he said, lightly cynical. She smirked.

"Oh, and what's to protect me from you," she teased.

"Come on, you trust me, right?"

She looked up, grinning to him, cheekily replying, "Not in the least."

0-0-

It was nearly twenty minutes later when the bus pulled up to a stop in an area Summer found familiar. She jumped off the bus, waving energetically to the driver, who smiled somewhat and straightened slightly. Freddy trudged behind, wary of her restlessness. They walked in relative silence, their uniforms clinging guiltily to their bodies, as if branding them for what they were doing. Summer led the way, for the most part, but it become more than obvious, Freddy knew the area well-enough himself. He seemed to be surprising her with a lot of previously non-displayed knowledge.

They paused on the porch of Summer's house as she fumbled to pull her keys from her pack. Freddy looked around, studying the house in the light of day now. He frowned. It still left the same feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was anxious to find out if the inside still smelled the same, to see what the house looked like on the inside, the furniture, everything, when illuminated with bright, natural sunlight. Friday night, most of the lights had been turned out, so he hadn't been able to see anything. Now, he wanted to. He desperately wanted to. Just to see if it matched the outside; cozy, warm, inviting, welcoming, _lived-in_.

The outside itself was different now that it was daytime. Yet, similar. The walls, he found, were not really a brown color like he'd thought, but more of a deep beige with a white trim. The front windows had white drapes drawn over them, and they appeared to be stained with dust, somewhat. The lawn was well kept, but looked as though it were overdue for mowing, and there were little flower bushes lining the walls of the house. There was a mat, on the doorstep, that he had noticed on Friday night, but hadn't really looked at. It was shaggy, brown, with stiff bristles and pine nettles were caught in it along with clingy dirt. The bold black letters, 'Wipe your Paws', was accentuated with decorative animal paw prints littered across it. It made him smile, though he didn't know why, so he scowled at it.

Summer managed to unlock the door, swinging it open and stepping in. Freddy remained glued to the doorstep. The smell wafted out at him; stale, musky, divine. Yes, almost exactly the same as Friday, but different as well. The front entryway was a square of tile, that broke into brown carpet, stretching the length of the household. He was staring in at, what appeared to be, the den, which broke off into a stairway to one side, and a hallway beyond that, and more rooms separated by walls. He watched enviously as Summer waltzed in, right at home. Of course, it _was _her home. She stretched, dropping her pack to the couch in the den. He hadn't noticed it. A large white sofa, the unmatching throw pillows knocked about on the worn cushions. There was a potted plant beside the door, wilting somewhat, and pictures that he couldn't get a good look at from where he stood, hanging on the walls and propped up in frames on tables and shelves. There were magazines scattered over the long, low reaching, table set in front of the sofa. Magazines were spread out over the table, yesterday's newspaper was gutted around them, and the remote control topped it all. A coaster sat on an end-table, with a dirty empty glass on top of it. There was a fairly decent sized television propped on an entertainment shelf, along with a cheap VCR and DVD player.

Summer turned back, looking confusedly at Freddy. He shook himself, trying to appear as though he hadn't just been staring.

"Aren't you coming in?" Summer asked, and Freddy flustered. He attempted to move forward, couldn't bring himself to do it. He didn't belong there, in that family home. Summer walked back to him, slowly, eyeing him curiously. She stood in front of him, much like Friday night, crossing her arms over her chest and pursing her lips together, "Why are you just standing there? Come in."

"Can I?" he mumbled, looking a little sheepish, feeling like an idiot. Of course, he could, she just told him to.

Summer arched her eyebrow, and Freddy ran a sweaty hand over the back of his neck, uncertain. She tried to search him, tried to catch his eye, as though through a gaze he could pass on his feelings, thoughts, desires, fears, everything.

"Yeah, I'm just…" he attempted to regain his more confident air, "Taking my…"

Suddenly, Summer's eyes went wide. She grabbed onto Freddy's wrist, dragging him in the house and slamming the door shut behind him. He looked at her, bewildered, but she offered no explanation, running to the window and peeking out through the drapes.

"What was that about?" he demanded, shaken, and realizing, with an oddly sick feeling, he was inside Summer's house, and the smell and warmth was suddenly clinging to his body, soaking into his skin.

"Mrs. Fuller," Summer spat with disgust, "She's our neighbor, lives in the blue house across the street. It doesn't look like she saw us…oh, she would just love the opportunity to tell my mother she saw me out of school…"

Freddy walked around the room, slowly, hesitantly. He ran his eyes over the white walls, the golden picture frames. He squinted at one, a small toddler with short black hair tied up in pigtails stared back, smiling a familiarly bright smile. He brushed his hand over the sofa. It felt rough and soft all at once. He wanted to sit on it, but it seemed so clean and crisp and pure, he was afraid if he did he would leave behind a large black mark.

"So, she's a real bitch, huh?" he commented, thinking he should. Summer glanced over her shoulder at him.

"You," she started, and he looked at her in surprise, "Oh, if she had seen you! She'd of had a field day, she'd of been doing back flips across her lawn! Just the chance to tell the entire neighborhood that she had seen someone like _you _on my doorstep…" Summer sighed, still staring out the window, watching with narrowed eyes the woman across the way, "You can sit down," she told him, glancing over her shoulder. He looked at the couch uncomfortably, uncertain, looking back up at her. She'd already returned to the window, holding her breath, "I think she's leaving…good, the old hag," she let the drape fall back into place.

Freddy took a deep breath, choosing to sit on the end of the sofa, and relaxing into the cushion, when a ball of black fur leapt into his lap. He startled, jumping and giving a startled gasp. Summer turned to him, shocked and wide-eyed, ready to question until she saw what had riled him up. Her facial features softened, and she smiled, crossing the room to pick up the ball of fur.

"It's just a cat," she laughed, bringing the animal to her chest and burying her nose in the scruff of its neck. Freddy stared at it with owl eyes, on edge. It blinked at him with yellow orbs, and he stiffened, "Felix," Summer scolded, in a soft, gentle tone, "You know better then to jump into guests' laps." She lifted it into the air, so that it faced her, its lithe body dangling down, its tail twitching from side to side. She supported its bottom with her other hand, "What have you been up to, baby?" she questioned, bringing it down to kiss its nose, and it returned the gesture, licking Summer's face joyfully.

Freddy watched uncertainly, unmoving. His eyes darted around the house, searching for more.

"Is that the only one?" he asked, and Summer giggled at him, placing Felix back on the ground and stroking its fur. It stretched, languidly, before sitting to stare up at Freddy. He stared back, hands pressed into the sofa cushion and the arm of the seat, ready to jump up should the cat make a move.

Summer walked away, disappearing down the hall.

"How did I know you were a cat person?" he called after her, eyes never leaving the animal. It lifted a paw to begin cleaning itself. It paused every now and then, to shoot Freddy what he decided was an evil glare. "Why's it looking at me like that?" he demanded.

"Huh?" Summer came back, and Freddy turned to look at her over his shoulder. She was pulling her hair back into an elastic band, but that's not what held his gaze. She was barefoot, first of all, her stockings gone, leaving her legs bare. They were thin, pale white, and while not the nicest legs he'd ever seen, he still felt the heat rise up his neck. Her blouse was no longer tucked into her skirt, and the top few buttons where undone. Her blazer was gone altogether. He'd never seen her look so relaxed and casual. She smiled at him, laughing slightly, "You're sitting in his chair."

"What?" Freddy mumbled, then realizing she meant the cat, he looked back to the black feline in reproach, "I'm so sorry," he drawled, "I didn't know it had a chair." Summer shook her head.

"I don't have anything for you to change into," she informed him, and he shrugged.

"You don't have a brother or something," he questioned, "Maybe you're dad…" Summer fidgeted, busying herself with straightening her hair, "It's cool, I'll just…wear my uniform."

"We could stop by your house, couldn't we?"

"No," he winced. He'd said that too fast, "My dad…might…um…be home."

"You said…" Summer started, but deciding it wasn't worth the argument, turned towards the stairs, "Felix, come on," she called, and the cat darted after her, to Freddy's relief, "I'll be just a minute."

Freddy listened as she creaked upwards to the rest of the house, leaving him there alone. He heard a door shut upstairs, figuring it was her bedroom door, and tapped his knees lightly. After a short moment, he grew bored and restless, standing up and exploring the den more. He lifted a few pictures, examined others. One was of an elderly woman and man, holding hands, arms wrapped around the same little girl with the bright smile. There was a picture of a man, who had Summer's eyes and smile, and light blonde hair. He was young, in his twenties or something, and wearing a military uniform. The picture itself looked old. He sniffed, wandering towards the hallway. He stared down it, half-expecting an invisible force field to jump up and block him from continuing down. It didn't.

The stairs led up through the first floor's ceiling, and Freddy glanced up them, trying to see where they broke off into. A hallway, whose many rooms he couldn't see. He continued down the hall that lay before him. There were more pictures of people he didn't recognize. A little boy with black hair and a missing front tooth, arm strapped about the little girl that Freddy finally decided must be Summer. They were standing around a small pool, at a house that was smaller and more run-down then the house he was walking through. To one side of the hall was a bathroom, and then a nook where a washer and dryer were set up. He peeked in. The floor was tiled, and stacks of dirty clothes were piled, along with clean ones neatly folded in a basket. There was a door, and he thought it probably led to the garage.

The hall itself ended in the dining room, where a small oak table was set up. The dining room connected to the small kitchen, white counters separating the two rooms. There was a white refrigerator, a stack of dishes in the sink, a plate on the bar counter with unfinished toast and a half a glass of orange juice. The Wallstreet Journal was folded neatly beside the plate. Freddy smirked, deciding this must be Summer's left over breakfast. The refrigerator was littered with an odd assortment of plastic magnets. Summer's straight A report card was stuck on there, along with more pictures, and another report card, the name 'Austin' at the top, straight A's as well. The report card was for another school, the name Freddy didn't recognize. It was another high school. He glanced between the two, before noticing an out-of-place 'B' on Summer's report card, circled in red pen.

In the corner of the refrigerator was another photo of Summer standing beside a tall young man. Freddy squinted his eyes at it. Summer had to have been about fourteen in the photo, he remembered because of her long hair, before she'd gotten it cut short again. The boy looked about fifteen, sixteen. Black hair and a cream white complexion as well. Neither teens looked happy. They were standing away from one another. Summer's hands shoved in the back pockets of her jeans, the boy's arms crossed over his chest. They were at the same rundown house with the pool.

"What are you doing?" Summer's voice questioned, and Freddy started, spinning around, his back pressed against the refrigerator. He smiled guiltily. She had her lips pursed, her brows arched, her hands on her hips. She had changed into blue jeans and a pink button down, long sleeve shirt. The buttons on the cuffs of the sleeves had yet to be done up, hanging low past the palm of her hands, and a few loose strands of hair had escaped her ponytail, falling into her face. She had white cotton socks on.

"I was just…" Freddy mumbled, glancing around for an excuse as to why he'd wandered into her kitchen, "I was thirsty." She peeked over his shoulder, at the picture he'd been staring at moments before.

"My brother," she explained, her tone was dark, "He goes to the public high school." Freddy looked surprised. He didn't know she had a brother. She'd always struck him as the type to be an only child. He wondered if anyone else in the band knew, then realized someone must, maybe they all did. Then he made a connection. The pictures, the report cards…

"Austin?" he took a shot in the dark.

"Yeah. That picture was two summers ago, at our grandparents house," she turned away, heading towards one of the cabinets and swinging it open, grabbing out a plastic cup, "What did you want?"

"Huh?"

"To drink?" she looked expectantly at him, "You said you were thirsty."

"Oh, yeah," he murmured, then smirked, "Rum, if you got it." Summer rolled her eyes, not appreciative of the joke. "Water's fine." She filled the glass and handed it over.

Freddy took a sip, as Summer wandered away, lifting up the plate on the counter and knocking the toast into the sink. She turned the faucet on, running the plate under the stream of water, then opened the dishwasher, that Freddy hadn't noticed before, and stuck the plate in. She leaned over, flicking a switch, and a horrible grinding noise exploded from the sink. She let it run awhile, before flicking the garbage disposal off again, and looking back to Freddy. He put the glass down.

"You think he'd mind if I borrowed some of his clothes?" Freddy asked, and Summer gave him a quizzical look, "You're brother?"

"No," she shook her head, "I don't go in his room. You don't want to borrow anything of his anyways."

"Well, I'd choose something of his over something of yours," Freddy joked, but seeing she wasn't budging, "Come on, Summer, I don't want to hang around in my uniform all day!" She rolled her eyes.

"I'll be right back," she muttered, racing back towards the hallway. Freddy took another drink of the water. It tasted different, then his water at home. He was surprised at how much quicker it took her to return, and she threw some clothing at him, "This is the bathroom," Summer led him through the hall, though Freddy had already seen it, and pushed open the door, "You can change in here." He nodded.

The jeans and t-shirt were a little oversized. Freddy didn't mind the shirt so much, a brown rag that said something about a carwash on the front. The jeans, however, he found himself tugging back up every now and then, as it wouldn't stay put on his slender form. He bundled up his uniform, grabbing his drumsticks from their back pocket and shoving them in the jeans, fixed his hair slightly in the mirror, and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Summer was waiting patiently outside, leaning against the wall. She smiled at him, giggling lightly, and he looked questioningly at her. She laughed, reaching forward and pulling the pants up for him.

"Do you need a belt?" she teased, still laughing. He smirked.

"Where do you want to go?" Freddy asked, and Summer shrugged, her mirth dying, "Is there anywhere around here worth going to?" She looked thoughtful, before smiling.

"There is one place…that I've always wanted to go…"

0-0-

Freddy looked up at the small amusement park. It exuded all the cheesiness of a carnival, with a carousel to the side, a rollercoaster wrapping around the entire place, little shops, a Zipper ride, a Tilt-o-Whirl, arcade games, and vending stands selling popcorn and cotton candy. There was even a portly man dressed as a clown selling colorful balloons. The line for entry was short, a small booth listing the prices. Two dollars for individual tickets, twenty dollars for a small roll of fifteen tickets, and twenty-five dollars for an all-day wristband. He glanced at Summer, who was bouncing slightly in anticipation, she grinned at him.

"I've never been here," she admitted. It had only been a short walk from her house, but he nodded. He believed it, she continued, "My mom always said it was a waste of money for cheap thrills and that goofing off like this never got anyone anywhere."

"Oh," he felt the need to say something, before looking back out at the parse crowd. There appeared to be a few adults with small children, some college students, and even a few high school kids, which was good, because they would fit in better. They stepped up to the booth, and the bald man behind the counter nodded, "Two wristbands," Freddy said, pulling open his wallet. Summer pulled her own wallet out, "I got this," he told her.

"It's alright," she protested, "I have my own money."

"Well, I have my _father's _money," Freddy grinned, "I got this." He placed a fifty dollar bill on the counter, and the man checked it briefly in the sunlight, before clipping the thin plastic wristbands to the two teens' wrists and ushering them forward.

"What do you want to ride first?" Summer questioned, "The rollercoaster is that way, there's a few water rides over there, but it's kind of cold for those, don't you think? And…"

"I thought you'd never been here before," Freddy joked, and Summer blushed, swiping a loose strand of hair back up with her ponytail.

"Yeah…I haven't…I had a map, when I was little," she stuttered, slightly flustered.

"What time is it?" Freddy asked, deciding not to show how incredibly amused he was at that tidbit of information. Summer glanced at her watch before showing it to him, "Ten? Rollercoaster." Summer scrunched her nose at him, as he stalked off in the direction she'd pointed. She jogged to follow, falling into a slow pace behind him.

"Does time have a relation to what ride you want to get on?" she questioned. He shrugged, shook his head.

"No. I was just wondering what time it was," he answered.

"Freddy," she whispered, gently touching his arm. He paused. "Um…can we…just a moment…talk?" He turned, looking at her in confusion.

"About?"

"Not talking."

"I'm not following," Freddy stated. She shrugged, tugging her shirt down.

"If we're going to hang out today, you have to promise that we won't talk about the band and Kyle and any of that," she clarified. He looked thoughtful, chewing his lower lip, before nodding.

"Sure, I can do that. I don't want to talk about bastard anyways. Can we go now?"

"Sure," she smiled brightly, strutting forward to lead the way, and choosing to ignore the 'bastard' comment.

The line for the rollercoaster wasn't that long, so they rode it a few times in varying seats. Front, back, third to last, second to front, exact middle; racing each other from the exit to the entrance, loser had to sit in a chosen seat from the winner. Then they went on the Zipper, which Summer didn't enjoy the chaotic-ness of. She waited while Freddy rode it a few more times, before they went on the Tilt-O-Whirl, another ride that Summer didn't appreciate. While waiting in lines, they found things to talk about. Exchanging questions, trying to embarrass or stump the other.

"Alright, tell me the deal with your brother," Freddy finally said, as he tugged the oversized jeans up for the umpteenth time that day. Summer frowned, leaning on the little fence encircling the walk-ramp up to the rollercoaster. The line had gotten a slight longer then earlier that day.

"What deal? There's nothing to talk about," she muttered, "He's a jerk, I hate him."

"But then, there is a deal. Why do you hate him?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

Summer looked to the cheeky blonde with precarious observation. He looked completely serious, leaning against the thin silver fence, his elbows propped up for support. Why did he want to know about her brother? Before that day she hadn't told anyone in the band she had a brother.

"We're in the same grade," she sighed, "He missed the cut-off date, as he was born in late November and we're only ten months apart. It's not exactly easy being in the same class as you're brother, at least, not for me. And you know how it is with siblings…" Freddy furrowed his brow and shrugged, indicating that, no, he didn't, "Sibling rivalry?"

"Only child," Freddy said, pointing to himself.

"Oh, lucky," she mumbled, "In my house, it's bad. And let's just leave it at that." Freddy opened his mouth to protest, ask for elaboration, but Summer was relieved of that duty when the next tram pulled up and the worker ushered them in. Then they found themselves in line at the Zipper again.

"You have to try it, one more time," Freddy pleaded, "Come on, Summer, quit being a baby!"

"The only reason you want me to get back on that ride is so you can see me squirm! Admit it, Freddy Jones," Summer retorted, "I am not getting back on that thing, no way, no how!"

Moments later, Summer stumbled from the cage, an exuberant Freddy following after. He grinned broadly at her, before putting an arm out to support her. She glanced weakly at him, still managing a menacing look.

"You have to admit, that was fun," he cried.

"I loathe you," she stated, and he snickered. She leaned in against him, taking deep breaths, and trying to get her head to stop spinning. He let his arm fall over her shoulders casually, as they walked aimlessly from the ride.

"Hungry?" he asked.

"Not really."

"I am. Let's get food."

"I say black, you say white," Summer muttered.

"So I'm not allowed to be hungry if you're not?" Freddy replied, then scoffing, "I guess bastard never eats when you're not eating." Summer stopped dead in her tracks, pulling away, and the drummer paused, taking a deep breath, but not turning to face the, undoubtedly, fuming young woman.

"Why do you call him that? What has he ever done to you?" she demanded.

"I don't like him. That's about it," Freddy answered, finally turning, head lowered, looking up at her, "He gives me shit all the time, alright? Him and his basketball buddies. I call a duck a duck, I call a bastard a bastard. And he is a bastard." Summer crossed her arms over her chest, raising an eyebrow, and pursing her lips.

"Oh and you're not? Because I sure as hell think making out with his girlfriend qualifies you as one."

"Are you talking about Greta James? Because I don't even know if that really happened. Or are you talking about you and me? Because you weren't really his girlfriend at the time," Freddy shot back. Summer's eyes went wide, heat flushing her face, and her body went rigid. In an instant, it seemed, everything flashed into her memory. His hands were still on her skin, his lips were still against her own, her body still pressed against his. It hit her too hard. The heat, the head rush. She mistook it for anger.

"That…" Summer stammered, "Wasn't even a real kiss."

"Damn straight it wasn't," Freddy spat, "I only kiss attractive girls. Not bitches who stab their friends in the back the moment some prick bastard gives them some attention." He pushed his way past, storming away. Summer turned after.

"Freddy, wait," she called, but his retreating back disappeared as the crowd enclosed in front of her. She stumbled backwards, feeling tears spring to her eyes.

How did they always manage to do that? How did they always manage to find something to fight about? There they were, completely enjoying the afternoon of ditching with one another, and then suddenly they were at each other's throats.

Summer wiped at her cheeks, rubbing them furiously. She turned, and almost ran into a girl standing behind her. She stepped back.

"Well, if it isn't little Punky Brewster," the girl greeted, as another joined her. Summer bit back a gasp, feeling her heart hitch halfway to her throat. She stared, disbelieving of her luck, at the girl standing before her. A fairly attractive brunette, tall, lithe, buxom. Her smile was thin, looking very much like she held something between her teeth, most likely a nasty comment. The girl beside her was Summer's height, red curls bunched up in a small ponytail, green eyes, and an hourglass figure. She stared at Summer with disinterest, distaste, and something more hidden behind those lit eyes.

"Allison," Summer mumbled, in regards to the brunette, "Rachel," she flickered her eyes over the redhead, sorrowfully, looking for a kind word or even a sympathetic smile. She didn't need this right now, her psyche already a wreck from her spat with Freddy.

"It's been awhile, Punky," Allison said, with an insidious smirk. A boy came up behind her, wavy brown locks, careful doe eyes, and a wiry but muscular build. He slipped his arm around Allison's waist, and for a moment, Summer's eyes betrayed her emotions, shadowing over with hurt, heartbreak, and deep distress. Her head was spinning, and Allison seemed to enjoy this, letting her smile widen, "You remember Jeffrey. Jeff, you remember Punky."

"Summer…" Summer corrected in a weak whisper, her voice giving way to an uncontrollable quiver, "Shouldn't you all be in school?"

"Staff development day," Allison answered coolly, placing a kiss to Jeff's cheek, though her eyes never left Summer's. She wouldn't want to miss a moment of jealous envy pouring from those expressive eyes.

"Shouldn't _you _be in school?" Rachel questioned haughtily, looking very much like she needed to prove herself to someone, obviously Allison.

"I…I…well…I…" Summer stammered. She was never a very great liar, and suddenly under the pressure of these three teens, her mouth couldn't seem to move. A hand slipped over her shoulders suddenly, warm and familiar, and comforting all at once. Relief washed over her, and she felt like she could burst into tears of joy at that moment.

"It's a holiday," a slick voice answered. The startled teens looked at the newcomer with varying regard. Jeff looked the boy up and down, unimpressed and obviously annoyed with his arrival. But Allison and Rachel were a different story. Their eyes trailed over him and it was evident by their expressions the same thought passed through their minds, that went through that of every girl that came across Freddy Jones. He was hot.

"Holiday?" Allison mumbled, eyes blankly staring at Freddy. He met her gaze, and a blush crept over her cheeks.

"Yeah, Horace Green day. Our school was founded today," he answered smoothly. Summer's brow furrowed together, and she began to open her mouth to clearly point out to Freddy that their school was most certainly not founded that day, and that they'd never been given the school's foundation day off as a holiday, anyways, when his hand clamped over her mouth. It was rough, calloused, smelled good. "Remember, Summer," he whispered roughly, "You were telling your _mother _all about it?" Summer's heart thudded realization of the stupid act she'd almost committed. She nodded, and he released her mouth.

"That's right," she piped, shakily, "Horace Green day…on this day, 1972, our academy was opened by Horace Fenton Green. His goal was to provide students with the opportunity to expand their minds in a professional and disciplinary environment, under the guidance of…"

"Jeez, Punky, we don't need a history lesson," Jeff interrupted, tightening his grasp on Allison's waist, and taking note of the way she glanced heatedly to Freddy every so often, then jealously to the way the blonde's arm fell around Summer.

"Come on, babe," Freddy hissed urgently in Summer's ear, his breath a hot blast against her chilled skin, "You said you were hungry."

"No, you said…" Summer started, but fell short, seeing the anger burning in his usually soft brown eyes. She nodded stiffly, letting him lead her away, but determined to have the final word, "Don't call me babe."

Freddy left Summer sitting on a bench, returning shortly with a soda and a bag of pink cotton candy. He handed her the drink, and sat down, working on opening the bag. She poked a straw through the cup lid, and drank. They were silent a long moment, sorting out their thoughts. Summer was itching, her veins pounding against her flesh, her heart slow, stop and go beats. She wanted to say something. She thought of apologizing, but her stubbornness reared its ugly head. What do you have to be sorry for, she demanded silently of herself, he was the one being a complete and total asshole.

Freddy's own head was spinning with anger and frustration. His chest felt like a particularly powerful session on his drum set, and it was taking all the energy he had to simply sit still and hold his tongue. He didn't want to yell at Summer, that's not why they were at that amusement park. Then why were they, he wondered. Why had he taken her there? Or more, why had he asked her to ditch with him? She wasn't his favorite person at the moment, what with considering leaving the band behind to manage Kyle's, that, in his eyes, could never be as good as School of Rock, record deal or no. Kyle's band didn't have Zack on lead guitar, they didn't have Lawrence on keyboard, Katie on bass, they didn't have Tomika's pipes, they didn't have Freddy on drums, they didn't have the support of roadies, a special effects crew, groupies, and a stylist, and, most importantly, they didn't have Dewey. But they would have Summer, if School of Rock couldn't convince her to not say 'yes'.

Freddy sniffed, a thought pounding in his mind. Maybe that's what this was. Maybe he thought, somewhere, deep in his subconscious even, that if he showed Summer a good time that day, if they hung out, and talked, and…well, maybe it was a last resort to keep Summer from leaving the band. A last resort to keep Summer from leaving him. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of that theory.

"We're not very good, at keeping our promises," Summer commented, and Freddy nodded, chuckling somewhat, she did the same, nervous, short laughter. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, "I didn't mean to…well…inadvertently call you a bastard."

"Well, I didn't mean to call you ugly."

"Smooth, Freddy," Summer muttered, her eyes narrowed at him, sarcastically inflecting, "Is that what you called me, because I didn't pick up on that one," then softly, "What about Kyle?"

"What about him? I'm not apologizing for calling him a bastard, because he is one."

"He is not," Summer pouted, short of stamping her foot and throwing a temper tantrum, the whine in her voice was reminisce of a three year old.

"Well then, let's just agree to disagree on that one," Freddy muttered peevishly. A quiet fell over them again. "What's with the dork squad?" He motioned towards the two girls and boy, hovering around the arcade in the distance. He opened the cotton candy, grabbing out a hand full and popping it in his mouth. Summer shifted beside him, leaning against the back of the bench, and seeming to be fighting an inner battle. She sighed, the air escaping from between her lips like a gasp. She lowered her head, flipping the end of her ponytail around to twiddle the hairs between her fingers.

"Remember that woman back at the house? Mrs. Fuller?" she said, and Freddy looked down at his hands, licking the sugar off his fingers, and offering the candy up to Summer. She took a piece, but didn't eat it.

"The bitch in the blue house?"

"Yeah. That girl over there is her daughter, Allison," Summer said, nodding to the teens, "She loves to make my life miserable. Ever since I won the science fair in first grade. Her older sisters always won everything, it was tradition for the Fuller family to take first prize, but I beat her. That year and every year after. She's hated me ever since."

"So, you're overachieving has been both a gift _and _a curse," Freddy teased, and Summer rolled her eyes, "Okay, then what's the deal with carrot top and bitch-in-training's shoulder bag?"

"Rachel and Jeff," Summer murmured, "Look, you may not believe this, but…before I came to Horace Green, I didn't have a lot of friends."

"You're kidding. That's _un_canny," Freddy drawled sarcastically, then seeing the hurt cross her face, "Sorry, couldn't help it…I'll be serious. Keep going…"

"I really didn't have _any _friends," Summer went on, "Well…one. Rachel, she was my best friend. She was impoverish, wearing hand-me-down clothes from the Salvation Army, and her mother made her toys to bring to school, and little brown bag lunches. She had to fold the bag up and reuse it everyday. I remember, one day, Allison was making fun of her because of it, and took her bag, and ripped it into pieces. Nobody said anything, they just watched. So I told Allison to…to shut up, that she was a brat. The next day, Rachel had to bring a plastic bag with her lunch in it. But I still ate lunch with her, even though no one else would, and…I was the only one that ever stood up for Rachel, and I got in a lot of trouble for it, and it only made the other kids bully me more…but she was my friend.

"I could talk to her, and tell her all my secrets and everything. She seemed to understand me, and to like that I was smart and wanted to get good grades. We were always together, inseparable. We had sleepovers, just the two of us. We used to joke that…that, well, the popular kids weren't good enough for us. That they were just jealous, because they'd never have real friends, like us."

"What happened?"

"Her dad got a job, and suddenly she was wearing brand name clothes, and had all these new toys, and everyone wanted to hang out and play with her," Summer's voice trembled slightly, she leaned forward, balancing her forehead in the palm of her hand, "It was as though we were never friends. She treated me like everyone else did, like I was a freak. Making fun of me, bullying me, torturing me…" Her voice caught, "Jeff was a boy I had a little childish crush on. She stole my journal, to secure herself a place in the popular crowd, and I had written in there about how I liked Jeff and I thought he was really a sweet person. Allison started to hang around Jeff, and he…announced to the entire class that…that I…" she broke off, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, "It sounds ridiculous now, but you remember what it was like being a kid! He told everyone that I had cooties, and he…that he would rather eat frog legs then ever play with me…

"God, I was such a stupid kid! I was so happy when I came to Horace Green. At Horace Green, nobody cared that I was smart, nobody made fun of me for it. Because most everybody there was smart. They all had private tutors their entire lives, and were working hard at school because their parents instilled in them a good work ethic. That schoolwork was important, and that they had to get good grades, get into a good college, get a good job, and…"

She stood suddenly, wiping the tears from her eyes, her back to Freddy, who stared at her in silence. He didn't know what to say. He'd always thought of Summer as confident, unwavering. He realized guiltily, he'd once considered her a freak, and that he used to make fun of her behind her back. But she was perfect before, as far as he knew, without a blemish or stain in her past. She'd always been pretty, pert, popular, overly organized, stuck-up, brownnosing, Summer Hathaway. Now she was crying, now she was hurting, now she was revealing to him a much darker, much sinister childhood than he'd ever pictured her having. He wanted to hold her, for a moment. To wipe away her tears, tell her that she was right, that those kids weren't good enough for her. He wanted to do anything, _anything_, to erase all that pain he felt coming from her. To erase that past. Then his want to comfort her turned into frustration, because he couldn't. He couldn't bring himself to pull her into his arms and simply hold her. So he became angry. He wanted to hurt those who'd hurt her. But he couldn't do that either. So he sat there, uncertain, unmoving, eating cotton candy. Sickeningly, he realized he wouldn't be able to eat the carnival treat after that moment ever again.

"You'll hate me, won't you," she whispered softly, and he listened to his heart pound several times before responding.

"What?"

Summer spun around, facing him, tears steadily streaming down her cheeks, bottom lip trembling, eyes shining. Her cheeks were splotched red, her face pale, her entire body shaking. She seemed so fragile in that moment, as though a thin tree standing against an onslaught of wind. A slim sheet of crystal glass that could fall and shatter at any moment. And in that vulnerability, she seemed so strong.

"You'll really hate me if I leave, won't you?" she stated again, accusingly, determinedly, "If I leave the band, you'll hate me! You'll never even speak to me again, will you? You're just like them." It hit him like a bullet, his mouth parting slightly, though no sound came out.

"What?" It was all he could manage.

"Think about it, really think about it," Summer raged, "If it hadn't been for the band…if Dewey hadn't come along…would you even be talking to me today? Would you even care I existed? Would you ever have, in a million years, asked me to skip school with you? No! You would treat me like they did…because you're just like them!" Her voice was a hallow croak now, and she was shaking with the soft sobs trying to escape from her throat, "And if I leave, you'll be just like them! You'll hate me, you'll never talk to me again…except maybe to shove some insult down my throat and treat me like you would have if it weren't for School of Rock in the first place!"

Freddy was on his feet before he knew it. But beyond that simple action, he was at a loss.

"I'm only worth talking to because of the band…I'm like Rachel, and suddenly I'll be back in my hand-me-down clothes, and you'll be ripping up my goddamned brown paper bag!"

"If you're so fucking worried about it then tell the bastard 'no'," Freddy shot, and Summer shook her head, eyes alight with fire.

"It's not about that, Freddy Jones! If you were really my friend, you'd be behind me no matter what! If you really cared about me, it wouldn't matter what I said, you'd support me! You'd want me to be happy, and you'd understand why this is hurting me so much! Why this is all so painful for me! But that's the thing, isn't it? You were never my friend! You never cared about me! I'm only bearable because I'm the little band manager, because I play a part in School of Rock! But when that's over, I'm a nobody to you."

"Stop it, Summer! Just shut up!"

"No! You're just like them!" He moved forward to grab hold of her, to calm her down, nervously noting how people were starting to stare. She fought against him, slapping his cheek, pounding against his chest. In only riled up the desperation in him, fueled his need to hold her, and he roughly pulled her into his arms. She struggled against him for a few moments, before curling her fingers in her brother's oversized shirt, burying her face in his chest, and simply crying.

People began walking by again, every now and then sending the two teens curious or concerned looks. Freddy clasped his hands around Summer, letting her cry against him, not knowing what to say. Some of her rant was true, he was painfully aware of that. He wouldn't be standing there with her, wouldn't of ever talked to her, asked her to skip school with him, wouldn't of ever held her in his arms, if it weren't for the fact they were both members of School of Rock. And it made him wonder, as hurtful as the thoughts were, if the rest of what she'd said was true. Did he only put up with her, only hang out with her, because she was in the band? And would it all change, would he really hate her, if she left? He saw the three teens; Allison, Rachel, and Jeff, standing and staring at them, whispering to one another. He balanced his chin atop Summer's head. He could smell her hair. It smelled of shampoo. Sweet. He tightened his hold on her, moving a hand to cradle her neck, to feel her skin. Soft, tender, with light baby fuzz like the flesh of a peach.

No. He wasn't like them.

"I won't hate you," he told Summer with complete sincerity. She was silent now, standing there, balanced against his chest. She would sniffle, every now and then, but the erratic sobs had stopped.

"Yes, you will," she whispered stubbornly.

"No. I won't. If you leave the band, I don't know if I'll still talk to you. And I don't know if we'll still hang out and be friends. But I do know, that I won't hate you, and I won't treat you like that," he assured her. She pulled away, looking very much a wreck. Her cheeks were damp, her eyes red rimmed, her hair a mess, her nose wet.

"It's not going to fall apart," she murmured, "If I leave. You'll still have the band." Freddy frowned, looking down to the dirty black ground, "Katie tells me to see it from your point of view, but I…I just wish you would try to see it from mine."

"I can't. Maybe it's because I hate the guy, but I can't."

"Katie said the band is the best thing that's ever happened to you," Summer continued, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear, "But for me…it was always the friendships we made."

"So, so long as you have the friendships, it's okay to move on to bigger and better things?" Freddy muttered bitterly.

"Bigger, not better," Summer retorted, "Never better." He cupped the side of her face with his hand, wiping the tears away carefully with his thumb. She smiled, and she'd never looked more beautiful. He stepped forward on impulse, and she lowered her eyes, suddenly shy. And all at once, he needed something from her, he needed to lean closer, to breath her in, to bring her near him, to touch her, to be mere inches from her face, to be closer than mere inches, to see if those lips still tasted the same…

Summer jumped back, her pack vibrating furiously, and Freddy turned away, startled and shaken. What was wrong with him? What was that about? She lifted her cell phone from her pack, wiping away the saturation from her eyes, and staring blearily at the screen.

"Don't answer it," Freddy started, but she popped it open and lifted it to her ear.

"Katie?"

"Summer! Summer, oh my god, where are you guys?"

Freddy relaxed, and Summer smiled, relief washing over her. The familiar voice of her friend more than enough to alleviate the otherwise tense atmosphere. Then she realized something.

"What do you mean, 'where are _you guys'_?" she asked.

"You and Freddy," Katie persisted, then in a tone that Summer knew was accompanied by an eye-roll, "We're not stupid. Freddy wasn't at school, you weren't at school, a lab rat could figure it out…"

"Oh."

"What does she want?" Freddy questioned impatiently.

"Aren't you at school, right now?" Summer asked, "Where are you calling from?"

"The girls' bathroom. School lets out in an hour," Katie explained, "Where are you guys?"

"Amusement park."

"You serious? Oh, how could you two just ditch us like this! I had to sit through the worst math test in the history of math tests…the quadratic equation is not my friend, let me tell you that…and you guys are at an amusement park!"

"_Katie_," a voice hissed testily beside the bassist.

"Who's with you?" Summer asked.

"What's going on?" Freddy demanded.

"Marta's here, and ow…shit, Marta…" There was shuffling and suddenly heavy breathing filled Summer's ear.

"I'm so sorry," Marta cried.

"What?" Summer pressed, "What are you sorry for? What are you guys calling about?"

"Kyle. I'm so sorry…I never meant to…I just…oh, I'm so sorry!"

"Kyle…?" Summer murmured, eyes widening. You were supposed to have lunch with Kyle, she reminded herself, you completely forgot about him, you completely ditched him.

"What about the bastard?" Freddy asked beside her, feeling left out.

"He knows you're out with Freddy, Summer," Marta continued, her voice on the edge of tears, "And he's mad…he's really mad…and he left…he's looking for you guys, right now…I'm so sorry…" Summer lowered the phone, staring blankly at Freddy. His brow drew together, and he looked questioningly to her.

"What? What's going on?"

* * *

END A/N: You know what really funny? This isn't even the longest chapter I have written up. I think that would be...chapter 7, maybe. It's a huge chapter, but once again, a lot happens in it. AH, yes, my three bitch OC's. I have decided whether they make another appearance...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. _**REVIEW**_!

THanks for reading.


	6. Words Can Never Hurt You

A/N: My mom is watching the story on this chick that they took of life support and starved to death (because she had brain damage). You all must've heard of the story, it was pretty big. This is where the euthanisation laws are so screwed up. I mean, if I was a vegetable, I would want to be euthanised, or if I was dying a slow painful death, I would want a quick drug overdose to get it over and done with right away. But because of the stupid laws, I have to suffer. WHat a crock! What do you guys think about it?

ENJOY!

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Chapter 6: Words Can Never Hurt You

Katie broke into a run to her car, Zack beside her, and Marta trailing behind. She stopped at the top of the stairs, other kids walking briskly past, as the final bell finished its chime. Zack slid over the hood of the car, swinging open the passenger side door and hopping in.

"I'll catch a ride with Eleni," Marta called, and Katie waved before ducking in behind the wheel.

"We should of brought Frankie," she said to Zack, who looked at her wide-eyed and impatient. He tapped the dashboard as she revved the engine, both readily buckled in, "Kyle's gonna kill Freddy…"

"No, he's not. Summer won't let him," Zack mumbled, though he didn't sound as though he believed it himself.

"But…"

"Just go!"

Katie peeled out of the school parking lot, several students and faculty members stopping to stare. She ripped down the street, Zack fidgeting beside her.

"Where are they, right now?" he asked.

"Summer said they were going back to her house," Katie replied, her tires squealing as she raced to make a turn on a yellow light, "But how long will it take for Kyle to check there! He had that look in his eyes…that 'I'm going to murder someone' look and…"

"At least Summer and Freddy are getting along again," Zack broke in.

"I don't know…Summer sounded a little upset on the phone. Hey, did you talk to her, yet, apologize?"

"Yeah," he shrugged, "I did this morning. I think I was the fourth person…because she wasn't really surprised. But she didn't look a lot better…can she really be serious about ditching us for this guy? They've only been an official couple for a few days!"

"I know, I know…but it's not about that," Katie replied, glancing at him, as she cut a little blue car off, "I guess…I don't know…what this is all about, really. But I know it's not because she's dating him. This is a big opportunity for her and…"

"I wish you guys would stop saying that," Zack moaned, "So what if it's a big opportunity for her! What happened to waiting for School of Rock to get its big opportunity? What about sticking with our band, sticking it to The Man, and playing for the music? She's selling out! She's…"

"Don't go into a Freddy rant on me, Mooneyham," Katie warned, "If you start yelling about how she's playing the sensitive bitch, and she's just trying to get to the top, stepping all over us along the way, but doing it gently, then just stop right there."

"Hey, when you word it that way, it kind of makes sense…"

"Shut it. Look, this is Summer's first boyfriend, and -"

"Aren't you getting tired of arguing her case?" Zack interrupted, "I know you, Katie. You don't really believe what you're saying. You think it's a load of bull like the rest of us. Maybe Freddy was right, maybe we should be mad at her, maybe we should be royally pissed off. And if she doesn't need us, then we don't need her."

"But that's exactly what she's saying," Katie said quietly, "I don't know. Maybe this is all a test. She wants us to support her, Zack, and that's what we have to do. If we push her away, then she'll leave for certain."

"Or maybe," Zack put in sarcastically, a mutter under his breath, "It's all a bad dream."

"She's my friend, Zack," Katie told him solemnly, "I just think I should support my friend. She's obviously going through some shit right now, but I have to trust she'll make the right decision in the end."

They fell silent. Katie pulling off the highway into the familiar neighborhood where Summer's house was nestled.

0-0-

Summer frowned at the television, volume turned on low, MTV flashing some pop band that reminded her of Kyle and the Barber Boys. Freddy entered the living room, his uniform casually pulled back on. He was spinning one of his drumsticks in his fingers, throwing the bunched up clothes he'd borrowed on the couch. They hadn't said anything to one another, since they'd left the amusement park. They'd stopped at a pizza place, for food, making small chat about vaguely random and irrelevant subjects, and then returned to Summer's home.

"What's on?" Freddy mumbled, catching the stick and shoving it in his back pocket with the other one. Summer looked at the remote, flipping the channel a few times, before coming back to the original station.

"Nothing," she muttered.

"These guys suck," he commented, leaning on the couch and scowling at the screen.

"Yeah," Summer agreed, "I think they're looping the same chorus in the background. And the music…" she shook her head.

"It has no rhythm," he finished for her. She smiled, and then it faltered, as she suddenly recognized the song. She'd heard it on Friday, in Kyle's car. He liked this "band". And then she felt badly. She'd told him that she'd liked the song, and now she was unwittingly making fun of it with Freddy. And she'd ditched him for Freddy. And she'd failed to call him, didn't want to hang out with him after band practice, because of Freddy. She looked to the drummer, uncertain of how to feel. It seemed she was doing a lot of things those past few days because of Freddy. Mostly crying.

It seemed strange. How natural it felt, for Summer, sitting there chatting with Freddy. Their dialogue was forced, their smiles nervous, and there seemed a great deal of tension in the air, because of their recent fight and the foreboding of Kyle's reaction. But this was what was familiar to her. This was her norm, trying to decide whether she hated Freddy at that moment, or if their fight was worth giving another thought to. When did it become this way? Kyle was her boyfriend. Shouldn't she be thinking of him instead of wondering how far she would have to reach to touch Freddy's cheek? You don't know how this works, Summer told herself, you don't know what it means to have a boyfriend. It's not like in the movies, you know. You really like Kyle, and there's a great deal of potential between you and him.

Most every girl at Horace Green, and in varying other schools in the city, were undoubtedly wishing they had Freddy Jones standing in their house at that moment.

What a shallow thought, Summer scolded herself, not one of those girls knew Freddy. Her heart gave a foppish thud. What do you really know about Freddy? You yell at him, that he's not a great friend, but when have you ever taken the time to get to know him? To really know him? The way friends do. When have you ever taken the time to get to know any of them. She narrowed her eyes, studying the tendon that ran from his ear down his neck. There was a little scar, on the back of his ear, that she'd never realized was there. Before she knew what she was doing, she had reached out and touched the tiny imperfection. He flinched, looking at her in surprise.

"How did…" she attempted, and he looked at her in confusion, before bringing his own fingers up to touch the scar, and realizing what she meant. He resettled against the couch.

"It's nothing," he told her slowly, his eyes refocused on the television, "I was five, climbing on the counter to get the cookies, and I slipped, fell, banged my head, lots of blood, lots of crying…fun stuff like that…"

"Oh," she mumbled, he was lying, "Today wasn't so bad, was it?" He smirked at her.

"No. That is, up until the part where Katie called.…"

"What about the part where we were at each other's throats?" she asked, not even bothering to hide the resentment in her voice.

He straightened, taking the remote from where Summer had thrown it and turning the television off. Summer folded her hands in her lap, bracing herself for another screaming contest. But there was silence, as Freddy crossed the room, picking up one of the framed pictures off a shelf.

"Those are my grandparents," Summer explained, turning to see what he was up to. He flinched slightly, putting the picture back down, and running his fingers over another one, "And that's my father…"

"Where is he? This is the only picture I've seen of him. Did he run off or something…"

"He died."

"Oh. How?"

"You're supposed to ask if I mind you asking," Summer whispered.

"What?"

"You're supposed to ask if I mind you asking," she repeated and he turned to meet her eyes, before shrugging.

"Okay. Do you mind me asking?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do."

"Okay," Freddy turned back to the pictures, "So, how'd he die?" She was quiet a moment, looking back to her hands sitting in her lap.

"I don't know, exactly," she said hesitantly, "He was in the military…there was a knock on the door, they always knock when, you know…and these men came, and they told my mother. I was eight, I think."

"Wasn't that when you came to Horace Green?"

"Yeah," Summer shifted, leaning back into the couch, "Well, I came before he…well, died. But that was the same year."

"Really?" Freddy turned, leaning against the shelf, his palms pressed into the wood, "You were always so cheerful. God, it was sickening. You were so peppy, and happy. You were like the fucking energizer bunny…"

"I don't want to talk about this," Summer mumbled.

"Sorry. Were you close?"

"Excuse me."

"Were you and your dad close?"

"Can we talk about something else?" Summer clicked her tongue, looking at him peeved. Oh, how he got on her nerves.

"It's either this, or Kyle," Freddy spat. Summer made a face, and he looked rather smug, "What? You prefer when I call him bastard?"

"I would prefer not speaking about him with you."

"You're father or the bastard?"

Summer pursed her lips, pushing herself to her feet and turning to face him. "You're trying to make me angry," she accused, "You really want to know? My father and I weren't close, alright? But then, he was never really home, and I was eight years old. That's it, end of story."

"Fine."

She clenched her hands in fists at her side, and he stared down at the ground. They were quiet, their breath the only sound between them. She could feel her fingernails biting into her palms. She couldn't figure him out. Why was he doing this to her? Did he hate her? Her heart clenched at that. She didn't want him to hate her, she realized.

"What's his band like?"

The question took Summer aback. Her mouth hung open, swinging, flailing uselessly. Freddy glanced at her, intensely, waiting for her answer.

"You said the bastard's band was good. What's it like? Do they play rock?"

"No…I just…nothing."

"They play nothing?"

Summer fidgeted, turning away. What was she going to say? Kyle was in a little boy band? Are you embarrassed, Summer asked herself, why can't you tell him? She chewed her lower lip, folding her arms in front of her, shaking her head. Her hair was a mess, she might as well take her ponytail out, so many strands had escaped around her face.

"They don't play rock, okay! They're not so much a band as a…well…a…singing group," Summer snapped, "Happy now?"

"What?" he managed, his eyes large white circles, his mouth partially parted. Then he shook his head, understanding falling on him. He sneered, "It kind of fits."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," he answered, looking away, pulling out a drumstick to twirl distractedly, "You never really fit the whole rock n' roll atmosphere. Too preppy for your own good. Maybe you _should _be the manager of a teeny bopper group. If it weren't for School of Rock, hell, you'd be a teeny bopper."

"Shut up, Freddy."

"Why, because it's true? Face it, Summer. You are the epitome of everything rock is against."

"Epitome, that's a big word for you…"

"Oh, that's a great comeback," Freddy spat, "Look at you, Summer. You're wearing a blouse, for crying out loud!" He stopped the drumstick, staring her down. She was trembling now, enraged, and he was just as livid, his muscles tense, "Jesus Christ, Summer, we can do without you! And fuck, you can sure as hell do without School of Rock."

"Fuck you."

"What? Did you just…wow, Summer, I am impressed. Foul language like that isn't very becoming of a young…"

"Shut up," Summer screamed, throwing a pillow at him, "You. Goddamn, Freddy, what are you trying to prove? Freddy _Jones_. You're family is richer than God! You're mother is a lawyer, you're father owns three successful companies, and you are the poor little rich boy! What is so bad about your life? Huh? You've never suffered, you've never been miserable! My father died, and no, we weren't incredibly close, and yes, I put on a good show at school of how incredibly happy I _wasn't_! But at least I have something I can relate to when I turn on that radio and the music pours out!

"You can't sit there and tell me that I don't fit the 'rock' profile, Mister Country club! You cause trouble just because you're bored, not because you're trying to make some statement! You have everything you ever wanted in life, and then some! You've been complaining that it's about the music, you don't even understand the music, you're life is perfect!"

"You're right. You're absolutely right. My life is fan-fucking-tastic," Freddy spat, "I hope you enjoy managing your boyfriend's _boy band _while its popular. In a year, it'll be nothing, and School of Rock will hit it big. _Without you_." He swung the front door open, Kyle standing on the porch, finger hovering over the doorbell. They exchanged a look, Kyle's mouth opening as he was ready to say something, but Freddy pushed past, barging down the walkway as Katie's car pulled up to the curb.

"What is going on?" Kyle demanded of Summer, "You and I were supposed to have lunch! You ditched me for…"

"I'm sorry, Kyle, alright," Summer whispered, her eyes welled with tears, "I…I…I made a mistake. I'd forgotten about lunch, and…"

"But with _him_," Kyle demanded, pointing menacingly at Freddy's back, as the blonde made his way down the street. He paused, at Katie's car, as Katie and Zack exited the vehicle.

"What's up?" Zack asked Freddy, who shook his head, shrugging.

"I'm sorry, okay," Summer whispered, "I just…"

"Did you kiss him?"

"Oh, Kyle, whoa," Katie cried, "You are jumping to a huge conclusion! Summer…and Freddy…that would just _never_ happen!" Kyle spun, glowering at her.

"Stay the hell out of this!" he snapped.

"Don't talk to her like that," Zack yelled.

"Will everybody just please…" Summer cried, and Kyle turned back to her, his eyes boring into her own.

"Summer. How could you do this? I thought…you and I…but him…_him?_ I can't do this, Summer. I have to know, did you…do anything…with him?"

"No," Summer answered quietly, her eyes flickering to Freddy momentarily, tears spilling down her cheeks, "I really am sorry about all of this. Please…will you please forgive me."

"I don't know, Summer."

"Kyle, please…I'll make this up to you, anything, please…"

"Katie, can I get a ride home?" Freddy questioned, looking to the bassist with dark eyes. She looked confused a moment before realizing what he was saying and nodding, "Then let's go."

"I can forgive you," Kyle said steadily, "If you never see him again."

Everything stopped. Katie's eyes went wide, Zack's mouth dropped, and Freddy stared down at the car window as though trying to shatter it with his look alone. Summer took a slow breath, licking her lips, and blinking a few more tears down her face.

"I said, let's go," Freddy hissed to the others, flinging the car door open and sliding in. He didn't want to be there, he didn't want to hear her say it. He didn't want to hear her tell him, 'sure, no problem, I don't even want to see him ever again'.

"No," Summer's voice was so soft, just below a whisper.

"What?" Kyle gaped.

"No," Summer said, more firmly, "I really like you, Kyle, but Freddy is my friend. I know that something happened between you and him, and I understand your feelings, so I'm not going to ask you to try and be civil towards him. But I cannot tolerate an ultimatum like that."

Kyle took a deep breath, before grabbing Summer's hand and dragging her in the house, whispering harshly, "I want to talk privately", shutting the door behind them.

Katie and Zack stepped forward, faces etched with worry. They wanted to go in that house. They feared the worst would happen. But Freddy relaxed in the car, frowning at the back of the seat. Why did she have to say that? He took out his drumsticks, pounding them against the soft cushion. He wasn't going to forgive her for what she'd said about him earlier. Maybe his family was rich, and maybe he was playing the part of the poor little rich boy, but she didn't know anything about his life. He frowned, pausing. Maybe she was right. It was perfect. It was exactly what he deserved.

0-0-

"Do you think Summer is going to be alright?" Katie asked for what seeemed the hundredth time, turning in the car to face the two boys. She'd parked in front of the Jones' estate only moments ago. They had ridden in silence, that tension hanging in the air. Freddy brooding in the backseat, Zack worried in the front, and Katie trying to concentrate on the road while the two boys' deafening silence kept her on the edge of her seat.

"She'll call," Zack murmured, as Freddy got out. They waved good-bye, watching the solemn drummer make his way up to the large house. Katie pressed her lips together, waiting until he was well within the gates, before turning her car out of the street, passing lavish mansion after lavish mansion.

"I wonder what happened between them," Katie mumbled.

"I told you, she'll call and tell us what Kyle…"

"I meant between Summer and Freddy!"

"Oh," Zack moved to turn the radio on, but paused, leaning back into the seat instead, "You hungry?"

"What?" Katie glanced at him, a little startled. He shrugged, smirking slightly.

"I don't know, rushing off to rescue friends kind of works up an appetite."

Katie smiled, brushing her hair behind her ears. She glanced at Zack, who was eased in his seat, laid back and calm. It's just food, she told herself, don't get overexcited.

"Okay. What are you hungry for?" Was that squeak my voice, she thought.

"Burgers fine," Zack answered.

"I don't really have money," Katie said. Good, that's coy, she mentally noted, if he pays, it's a date, right?

"It's okay, I do," Zack told her.

Katie smiled, running a hand through her hair and settling back into her chair. She had a strong urge to check her make-up. _Was_ Zack actually asking her on a date? No, Katie told herself, that's jumping to conclusions, I'm being silly. Of course, she couldn't really tell that to her heart, racing like mad, and her head, soaring high in the clouds. She hated feeling this way about the lead guitarist, hated lying to his face about why she was worried about her looks all the time, hated how a simple word or compliment from him could send her on the fritz. And she hated, most especially, how she had only recently gotten over her shyness, just for it to come creeping back with the one boy she'd ever felt completely comfortable around.

"This is good," Zack continued, "Because Summer will call you, so I don't have to wait until tomorrow to find out what happened."

"Oh. Yeah," Katie murmured, her face falling somewhat. So that's it. He's worried about Summer. She clenched the wheel tighter, forcing her smile back in place. Yeah, she thought bitterly, silly.

0-0-

Freddy closed the door quietly behind him, walking through the halls of the large house. A man, busy cleaning the windows, paused to glance at him, before resuming his work. The walls were white, empty, bare, not a single picture adorned them like Summer's house. In fact, there were no pictures to be seen, anywhere. The great entryway was graced with a long spiral staircase, that split off into two sets of stairs. One led to the second floor, the other to the third. It was a high ceiling, a crystal chandelier at the very top. To the side was a massive den, one of many little sitting rooms. There was a couch, black leather, that had never been sat on. A fireplace, that had never been used. To the other direction was another room, with a table, a bushel of flowers in a vase on top. They were replaced daily. Then more richly designed, pricey furniture that was never used. The back hallway led to the kitchen, massive. Freddy had never been it in for more than two minutes. The cook didn't like him. And then farther back was the sliding glass door, that led to the backyard. There was a pool back there, Olympic sized, larger than the indoor one a floor below, a tennis court, and a half basketball court were back there as well.

Freddy walked past the staircase, into the hallway. No candid pictures of smiling children, or old people, or aged portraits of dead men graced those walls. There was, however, an abstract painting, by some unknown artist. He passed a housemaid, who gave him a small glance, before continuing with dusting. He paused.

"My dad home?" he asked, not bothering to turn, and the woman was surprised. He didn't usually talk with the domestics, they were invisible, non-existent as far as he was concerned.

"Yes, sir," she answered after a moment's hesitation. He frowned. He could always tell when his father was home. It was like a dark cloud hovered over the mansion. It always made him feel sick to his stomach. Like his father had an unnatural presence.

"Don't tell him I'm back," Freddy muttered, and continued down the hall. He didn't need to see her confused nod of the head to know she would obey him. It wasn't as though she was paid to be his keeper anyways.

He stopped at the glass door, at the very end of the hall. It was perfectly shining. No fingerprints, no dirt, no dust, not a smudge. It smelled of Windex, and he wondered if he ran his finger along it, would a thick coat of blue stain its tip. He pressed his hand against the window, instead. It was cold. He pulled the appendage back, admiring the mark it left, a greasy handprint, before opening the door and marching into the back yard. He could already sense the housemaid, like a whirl, already there, cleaning up any indication that he'd ever existed in that house. The gardener was busy mowing the lawns, he put a brake on the large mower he was riding on, to give Freddy a once over. Freddy ignored him. He could see the tennis court, rackets casually discarded on the green gravel. A middle-aged man was busy picking up scattered green tennis balls around the court. Father had company.

To the very end of the backyard was an apartment, built high up above the storage that held all the gardening equipment. Freddy jogged up the white wooden steps, pausing at the door as he shifted in his pockets for his key. He'd staked his claim on that small separate building when he'd first moved in to his father's house. It was small, with a little kitchen, a tiny bedroom, a closet sized bathroom with no more than a toilet and a hand sink, and a little 'den' space connected to the kitchen. He didn't live in it, as he wasn't even supposed to be going in it. It was rundown, and a housemaid was paid to come clean it everyday, but she only did it once a week. Nobody else went in to check if she did her work, so why bother?

He checked his pockets, pulling them inside out, before tucking them back in. He tore open his book bag, that was mostly empty save for a binder of blank loose-leaf paper, his personal CD player, a small book of CDs and a half-eaten bag of cotton candy. He frowned, deciding he must have forgotten them in his room in the house. He looked back at the cold white palace of ice with despair. He couldn't exactly stand out there all day. He made his way back across the lot, flung open the glass door, which had been cleaned, he noted, and marched back into the house.

Freddy raced up the stairs, alert for any movement. He jumped nearly three feet in the air when he ran into a man servant that looked strikingly like his father and only breathed easier when he reached the familiar white door. The last thing he wanted was to run into his father. Because then they would have to talk, and, for good reason, Freddy didn't want to talk with his father. He opened the door, sliding in, shutting it carefully behind him. The room was spotless. He hated it. He always felt so small in that large empty space. There was a desk, with a top-of-the-line computer pressed up against the wall. He'd never turned it on, he didn't even know if it worked or if it was plugged in. There was a dresser, where his clothes, that he didn't wear, were neatly folded and placed inside. A trash bin, that was empty. A lamp, his bed, a bedside table, an alarm clock that was blinking 1:42 am. Had he forgot to fix that when he last pulled the chord out to stop the blaring alarm? There was a television, another unused relic, with the remote balanced on top of it. Every game system ever created, a VCR and DVD player, and a large sound system was set up around the television. There was one poster on his wall, of Harvard, the school Freddy's parents wanted him to go to, but gave up on the dream of him ever attending sometime in the third grade.

It was dark in that room, the curtains drawn back. Freddy crossed to the bedside table, his foot kicking hard glass. He paused, looking down, his hands on the small drawer where he kept little things like keys and his drumsticks. It was an empty bottle of Chardonnay, that he knew wasn't his. He preferred hard liquor; rum, tequila, vermouth, and even still, he'd always drunk red wine. And that's when he noticed the rumpled mess his bed was. He looked to it, knowing what he'd see. A woman, naked, her primped hair a fan of tangles across his pillow. His blankets strewn over the bottom half of her body, one leg dangling out, the rest knotted about her. She lay on her side, one arm covering the majority of her ample breast, though one partially puckered out so that he could see a fraction of the nipple. She stirred, her eyes opening somewhat, to look at him drowsily. She was still drunk, he could tell from her slow intake of the scene around her and how her eyes wouldn't focus.

"Hey," she slurred, touching the front of his shirt, pressing her fingers against his stomach, "Who are you…? You're kind of cute…"

She pulled him forward, pressing her lips against his. She tasted of lipstick, wine, and, sickeningly Freddy thought, his father. She gripped his shirt tightly, and he felt like he was going to throw up. He pushed her away, stumbling back, and she fell once again to the bed, half-passed out, yet still conscious enough to give him an almost 'come hither' look. He burst from the room, slamming the door shut behind him, and sliding down to the ground. His head was spinning, his heart pounding, his breath heaving gasps. He wiped at his mouth, furiously, and pulled back his hand, surprised when he felt droplets of something wet. He touched his cheek. He was crying. He didn't cry. He'd never cried. Not even when his grandmother died, or when his parents got divorced, or when he'd broken his arm in the first grade. He sniffed, running the back of his hand over his eyes and leaned his head back against the heavy wood of the door. He could hear heavy snores inside, muffled by the obstruction. The woman was asleep again.

Unsteadily, Freddy rose to his feet, making his way back down the stairs. He gripped the banister tightly, for fear his legs would give out on him and he'd tumble to the ground. For a fearfully fleeting moment, he considered doing exactly that. But he realized, it wouldn't kill him, not like he hoped it would. It would merely cause him more pain. Maybe break a few of his bones. At the end of the stairs, he leaned heavily on the railing, staring into that room, with the daily replaced plant. Suddenly adrenaline kicked through his veins, he wanted to destroy something. He marched into that room, grabbed the vase, and threw it with all his strength to the ground. It shattered, the water splashing up onto his pant legs, and across the carpet. The flowers, a limp, desecrated mess, scattered across the floor. Good, he thought, it was too beautiful to belong in that house. It had too much life, it should be dead.

"My room?" Freddy demanded of the broken glass and soaked floor, "Why did he have to fuck her in _my room_? There are five hundred fucking rooms in this house! Why mine? Was he too fucking drunk to make it all the fucking way to his own goddamned room?" He ran his hand over his forehead, messaging the temples, as the butler and a few housemaids came in to see what the commotion was about. He heard one cluck her tongue, probably looking at the mess disapprovingly. Damn rich people, she was most likely thinking, they get a little dramatic and I have to clean up after them. What have they got to be so upset about? Their lives are perfect.

Freddy felt badly suddenly. He bent down, thinking of cleaning up the mess, but then he wouldn't know how. He'd never cleaned before. He touched a piece of the vase, then dropped it in surprise, gasping, and balling his hand into a fist. It had sliced through his flesh, cleanly, and now thick black red filled his clenched hand, dribbling to add to the mess.

"Um…sir," one of the housemaids finally spoke up, "Are you alright?" She had a soft voice, filled to the brink with concern, and fear. She was scared of him. He stood, his back straight, his head held high.

"Perfect," he told her. He turned to her, smiling broadly, "I'm Freddy Jones, of course, I'm alright. My life is perfect."

The domestics stared at him, blankly, uncertainly. They didn't know what to say. He left them, walking from the room, to the back door, to the backyard. His hand was quickly covering in blood, and it was splattering in great drops to the ground. But that was alright. It would only take the housemaids seconds to clean it all up. And then, it would never have happened. Because there would be no trace, no evidence, besides broken pieces of colorful glass put out in the dumpster on the side of the road. He didn't care. And he didn't care that he had failed to grab the keys to the apartment in the backyard. It didn't matter. He could sit there on the porch of the apartment, or even jimmy the lock with a credit card. He had dozens of those, though he wasn't sure he knew how to open a lock with one. But he didn't mind.

Freddy stopped, at the bottom of those old wooden stairs, pressing his hand onto the railing, wavering back and forth, suddenly lightheaded.

"Summer can leave," he muttered, suddenly washed over with fatigue. He didn't know where it came from, why she was suddenly on his mind. But for some reason, her image was there right in front of his eyes, "We don't need her. What does she do for the band anyways? Nothing! She can manage his band, and I hope she's fucking happy." He climbed the stairs, before collapsing on the porch, pressing his cheek against the cool wooden floor, grains of dirt pressing into his skin. Sometimes, he just wanted to sleep.

0-0-

Everybody was surprised, to say the least, when Summer walked in through the door for band practice. They all expected Freddy over her. She marched in with her usual air of confidence, set her pack on the counter, flipping it open to search for her band organizer, clipboard, a pen, her cell phone, and anything else she might need.

"Hi, Summer," Michelle spoke up, killing the silence that had invaded the room. And the others, remembering the day before, all broke into jubilant greetings.

"How are you today, Summer?" Marco asked.

"How's it hanging, Tinkerbell?" Dewey slickly called.

"Glad you're here," Alicia smiled winningly. Marta was still quiet, eyes on the ground, sitting on the couch. She felt guilty, obviously, from letting things slip to Kyle, and even then, she wasn't sure she was ready to forgive Summer, and didn't want to join in on the 'be-kind-to-your-manager' plan. Katie crossed the room, leaning on the counter and smiling at the very startled Summer. She was staring out at the others, her cheeks flushed from their unexpected attention.

"What's going on, guys?" she started, a little wary of their staring and overbearing friendliness.

"Nothing, just waiting for you," Zack said, and everyone nodded agreement.

"Um…okay," Summer mumbled, "Shouldn't you all be practicing, and…stuff?"

"Oh, right," Dewey grinned, "Summer, where would we be without you?" Summer shrugged.

"Yeah, thanks, you always keep us right on track," Tomika smiled sweetly and they all went back to prepping for practice. Katie leaned closer to Summer.

"What happened with lover boy?" she asked conspiratorially. Summer flipped through her organizer.

"We talked," she murmured, "He agreed that it was wrong of him to give me that ultimatum. I told him it was wrong of me to take off with Freddy like that. We worked things out."

"Did you talk about…the…um…manager thing?" Katie pressed, quietly, plucking at a loose string on Summer's pack. Summer slammed her organizer shut.

"No," she answered, "He didn't bring it up. Katie, shouldn't you be on the bass, instead of chatting with me?"

"Oh, sorry," Katie grumbled, then wincing, and forcing a pleasantly appreciative smile, "I mean, yeah, you're totally right!" She picked up her guitar, crossing to stand with Zack, who was tightening the fifth string of his guitar somewhat. He glanced at her.

"So? What'd she say?"

"Things are good with her and Kyle," Katie answered, busying herself with tuning her own guitar, "We overreacted. We shouldn't have worried so much. Kyle's a good guy…"

"Yeah, whatever," Zack muttered sarcastically, "He's a real saint, and he's great with the trust thing."

"Summer did seem to ditch him for Freddy. Can you really blame him?"

"Come on, Katie. I don't trust that guy. I don't know why, but he creeps me out."

Katie gave Zack a surprised look.

"I didn't know you felt that way," she stated dumbly, "How come you didn't mention this before?"

"Oh please, you'd think I was just siding with Freddy. Best friend or not, I do have an opinion of my own. Freddy thinks the guy's a jerk, I think he's a little weird…there's something off about him," Zack shrugged, "After the way he acted with Summer. He's taking things a bit fast, don't you think? He wants to be her boyfriend now, wants to work with her, and he wants to decide who she's friends with? That sounds pretty…"

"Summer's a strong girl," Katie cut him off, "So if you're going in the, 'he might be or will abuse her direction', forget it, Zack. She would end that relationship so fast…and I hate to admit this, but maybe he does have a good reason to fear her hanging out with Freddy."

"Why? Because of that Kyle's ex-girlfriend thing? Please," Zack shook his head, "I remember when that happened."

"So do I, everybody heard about it at school…"

"Well, I saw it all," Zack hissed, and Katie fell silent, looking at him wide-eyed, surprised. This was news to her. He sighed and glanced around, before taking Katie by the elbow and leading her to a more secluded corner, "Look, what I tell you, stays between us. Freddy doesn't even know exactly what happened that night, alright?"

"O-okay…what?"

"The reason Freddy doesn't remember it is because he was drunk. We were at a party, me and him, and he'd gotten into the booze. I was designated driver, so I was pretty much the only sober one at the party."

"So it was a drunk thing? Greta made out with him when they were both drunk…?"

"No," Zack murmured, shaking his head, almost sadly, "She wasn't drunk, she was as sober as a priest. She knew exactly what she was doing. It's not what everybody thinks. Freddy didn't come on to her, he didn't seduce her or any of that crap everyone thinks he did. He was so drunk, I don't even think he could see straight. Seduce someone? Forget about it. Wasn't gonna happen that night. Greta came into that party _looking _for someone to make-out with. She saw Freddy, and practically jumped him. No one else noticed, they were all busy having fun, and they just figured, Freddy, nailing another chick. Big deal. When Kyle came in, he reached the same conclusion everyone else did. He figured Freddy had been flirting with her, and initiated the whole thing.

"There was a huge fight, and he ended it with Greta, right there in front of everyone, and she didn't look like she was exactly unhappy about it. In fact, she looked pretty satisfied with herself. By then, Freddy had passed out. Which was good, because Kyle looked like he wanted to kill Freddy, and if Freddy had said _anything_…oh man. But that's how it happened. Greta pushed herself on Freddy, she wanted to end her relationship with Kyle, and I think that's the only way she could figure out how."

"What a bitch," Katie muttered, "Doing that to her own boyfriend…"

"You're not listening to me, Katie," Zack persisted, "I talked to her, afterwards. She helped me carry Freddy out to the car. I asked her why she did it. She told me she had to get out, that she had to get away from him."

"What?" Katie shook her head, "You misheard. That's stupid."

"No, I didn't. We were alone, in the middle of the night, no one was around, and she was speaking pretty damn clearly. I heard what she said."

"Why haven't you said anything about this? Why…why…did you…how come I didn't hear about any of this?" Katie questioned, eyes wide, face contorted with shock. Zack sniffed, shaking his head and glancing at the others, as though thinking they'd all heard and were staring at them now.

"Because pretty much no one at the party was from Horace Green, for one thing. And because it wasn't that huge, I'd forgotten about it until recently," Zack shifted, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, "It's not fair to Freddy, that he gets such a bad rap about all of this. Most of his reputation comes from things he did when he was drunk, things he can't even remember doing, or things other people spread about him, that he never did, but he can't be sure, because he might of been drunk. And whatever you and the other girls may think, I know him. He's got morals. He respects girls who are dating other guys, he'd never come on to a girl if he knew she had a boyfriend."

"Oh man," Katie shook her head, "I can't believe it. I won't. Kyle respects Summer. She said herself, they just talked things out, and he completely understood. And they reached an agreement. He wouldn't hurt her, or anything like that."

"I hope you're right," Zack sighed, looking to the petite manager, who was busy talking to Billy, Gordie, and Marco; probably something having to do with the upcoming show. Billy said something, obviously about her hair, as she brought a hand up to touch it, blushing and shocked all at once. "So, what do we do about her?"

"Keep with what were doing," Katie suggested.

"Kill her with kindness?"

"You got a better plan to keep her from leaving?" Katie asked.

"No, just let things be," Zack shrugged, "If she leaves, she leaves. It'll be her decision, and yeah, it'll suck, but we'll get over it…I think…Besides, she's smart. She might figure out what we're doing and imagine how pissed she'll…"

Everyone jumped when the door to the apartment building slammed open. Freddy swaggered in, sunglasses over his eyes, and a bandage around his hand, stained through with a bright red flower. His drumsticks casually shoved in his pocket, his hair a mess, and he tossed his jacket to the coat rack. It missed, falling to the ground. He didn't seem to care, slumping into his drum stool.

"Uh oh," Zack mumbled, "Those are his hangover glasses."

"We only left him a few hours ago," Katie replied, "He couldn't of gotten drunk in that short period of time."

"Oh ye of little faith," Zack muttered cynically, slowly making his way towards the drummer, Katie hesitantly behind.

"You're late," Summer began, her voice sounding a bit on edge, "You should have…"

"What are _you _doing here?" Freddy interjected harshly, and only Zack seemed able to detect the slight slur in his words, "I thought you were between bands."

"I…I am still active manager of School of Rock, and I…" she faltered, looking to the clipboard in her hands.

"Whatever," Freddy muttered.

"Shut up," Katie hissed, "We are happy that she is here." A murmur of less than certain "yeah's" followed.

"Yeah, and thankful that she's our manager," Marco added, painfully obvious that he wasn't really certain how much he believed what he was saying.

"Oh please," Freddy groaned, "They been feeding you this bull since you came in?" Summer flickered a glance to him, before continuing her staring contest with the paper in front of her.

"Freddy…Freddy, come on, watch it," Dewey warned, "Don't listen to him, Summer…we're glad you're here and…"

"You're our special member, and our favorite friend," Freddy cut him off, bitterly taunting, "They're just sucking up so you don't leave. Jesus Christ, Summer, you must have figured that out by now, oh great queen of brownnosing."

"Watch it," Tomika started threateningly, but the drummer disregarded her.

"What? I'm sorry if I spoiled your guys' little plot," Freddy spat, "Maybe if you lick her shoes and…"

"That is quite enough," Summer interrupted, her voice shaking, "You're right, Freddy Jones. I knew something was up, and I don't need you to rudely point it out to me. I wasn't going to say anything, but if you're so desperate to bring it to attention," she pushed the hair behind her ears, "It's still hanging in the air, this little decision of mine, and maybe I'm waiting for some great epiphany to fall from the sky and strike me upside the head with the correct answer. The one that makes the most sense, the one that feels right. But as of yet, nothing has hit me, except for one little fact. My friends are so incapable of stepping back and letting me think things through and let things be.

"What's next? Are you going to all stop being my friends until I reach the decision you're all happy with? You've all made it more than clear that I'm not needed here. First I'm told that I'm the same Summer I always was, that I haven't changed, and School of Rock means nothing to me. Then I'm being apologized to and sucked up to? Did you all honestly think it would work? How can you all pressure me to make a decision, when I don't even think any of you know what you want the outcome to be! You say you want me to stay. Why? Why do you want me to stay? What am I to any of you? Because we're friends? We can all still be friends, no matter what I decide! Or can't we?

"Frankly, I must state, I am utterly disgusted with all of you. And this…this…this sorrowful attempt at long overdue respect, is not going to help your case any. Perhaps you're right, perhaps you're all right. And you, Freddy Jones, are more right than anyone! I am completely useless to all of you," she marched towards the door, lifting her pack and shoving her things inside it, she spun again, to face everyone in the room, "Kyle has invited me to watch him and his band in concert this Friday. I wasn't going to go, but recent turn of events has persuaded me otherwise. I'd rather be with someone who isn't constantly shoving on my shoulders the weight of this huge decision that could completely alter my life! Good bye, everyone, and good luck on Friday without me." She slammed the door behind her. Everyone felt sick in the stomach, lumps lying there, dead guilt.

"Great going, Freddy," Leonard started.

"It's not his fault," Dewey cut him off, "Summer's right. This was pathetic. What's wrong with us? I think we should cut practice short today. Everyone, go on home." The gang moved towards the door, silently mulling over the things Summer had said. Her questions rang in their ears like the brilliant striking of church bells. Why did they want her to stay with them? What was she to any of them? What did it _really_ matter if she left?

* * *

END A/N: Ahhh...the fight scene that never happened. I know, you're all terribly dissapointed. ACtually, I recently wrote the fight scene between Freddy and Kyle. You're all going to be very happy with it, I think. Maybe you won't be...who am I to know?

My cousin and I decided to start a band. I'm lead guitarist, songwriter, and vocalist (I have to take singing lessons, though) and she's bass player, and she'll probably help with songwriting. It'll be so much fun! We need to find a drummer though...I heard Kevin Clark was between bands...hm...

Actually, we (mostly me) really suck, and I highly doubt he (orany other really good drummers) would be interested in partaking in our band right now. But in a couple years, we'll (hopefully me) will be a lot better! With practice...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. _**REVIEW**_s are very appreciated, especially right now when I'm down on my luck...

THanks for REading.


	7. Your Family Loves You

A/N: FInally, the brandspanking new chapter that NO ONE has read yet. Chapter 7...oh...this chapter...hm...what to say. Summer pulls another bitch act (and we get to see a little more behind what's motivating her indecision), and School of Rock find out how much Summer _really_ does for the band. I wonder how much that is...is it little to nothing...

I actually read all the reviews I got for the last chapter (before this story was taken down), and I saved a few in my inbox when I discovered my story (and reviews) were gone. I would thank those people individually, except I didn't save all of the reviews, and it wouldn't be fair to thank them and not the others. So, for those of you who reviewed (you all know who you are), you all totally rock!

THanks for the patience, I know it was a bitch, this whole ordeal. God, it pisses me off. But here's your new chapter, finally.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 7: Your Family Loves You

Summer lay on her bed, at home, staring up at the ceiling in silence. The days had passed almost hazily for her, weaving in and out of awareness, like dream walking through her life. She avoided the members of School of Rock, and they did likewise. She ate lunch with Kyle, and he opted to give her rides to and from school. She hung out with him, and his friends in the band, and their significant others. But those moments in time, were just moments in time. She could barely remember them, they meant nothing to her. She would smile, and nod when they spoke to her, give some run-of-the-mill reply. And they would laugh, and joke around, completely oblivious to the fact her insides were in complete shambles, that it was all a fake charade, that beneath that smile and airily confident voice, she was in so much pain.

And now, it was Friday night. The night Summer would go out with Kyle, to see him perform on stage with his group. She felt her stomach knot, felt nauseas. School of Rock had a gig that night. They would be playing a small time club, headlining. It would be their first gig that she'd miss, since they'd formed in the fifth grade. She hadn't even missed that one when she was completely bedridden with pneumonia, even as she'd passed out backstage and Dewey had to carry her home. She buried her head in her pillow, her eyes dry. She hadn't cried since she'd left Dewey's apartment that day of practice. She glanced the clock. She had three hours before Kyle came to pick her up. She had to take a shower, pick out clothes, get herself all done up.

Having a boyfriend was hard work.

Summer rolled onto her belly, her hair falling around her face. Sickly she realized, she didn't want to go. Tears filled her eyes.

"Oh god," she moaned softly, numbly wiping at her cheeks, "I can't do this again. I can't cry again." The gig, for School of Rock, was only an hour and half away. By now, they would all be gathered at Dewey's apartment. Her and Dewey would be going over the equipment with the roadies, running through the checklist. Gordie would be reviewing his light display, Billy would be tweaking the hairstyles of the band members, Michelle and Eleni would be checking their band merchandise and the pricing. Summer sighed, pulling herself up to a sitting position. "Don't do this to yourself," she commanded, "Don't think about them."

They're probably doing fine without you, Summer told herself, in fact, they're probably having the time of their lives without you to ruin all their fun with your nagging and sticking to the schedule. Right now, she thought bitterly, their probably realizing how little they need you. She sighed, leaning back in her bed, tears coursing down her cheeks, shaking from her chin. She was trembling. They used to joke with her, about her prim personality, misbehaving just so she'd yell at them. Then Katie would slink an arm over her shoulders and tell her, "you know we love you, Summer." And Zack would laugh, and say, "Yeah, you're like a doting old grandmother." And Freddy…

Summer ran her hand through her hair. Everything was so screwed up. How could she say all those things? How could they say all those things? Or maybe not them, but Freddy. She wrapped her arms about herself. She felt guilty, having shoved their kindness back down their throats that day. They want you to stay, she told herself. Then chuckled bitterly. Yeah right. You're useless to them. And now, they're probably realizing just how useless you were, if they hadn't already known. You were never a part of them, she reminded herself, you were always just there. They can do everything you did, without having to put up with you. They never smiled when she walked into the apartment. Sometimes they would be sitting around, hanging out, laughing about something, and fall silent when she entered. It's time to work now, they would think.

The body length mirror at the edge of Summer's room was shooting her a particularly revolted stare. They were probably talking about you all those times. You can always tell when people are talking about you behind your back, because they always stop when you enter the room.

Summer pulled herself off her bed, crossing the room towards the bathroom. She flicked the light on, and shut the door behind her, running the water in the shower to warm it up. She saw, from the corner of her eye, her cell phone tucked beside her pack, shoved up against the wall. She picked it up, delicately, flipping it open and staring blankly at the empty black screen. She had turned it off, back when she'd stormed from Dewey's apartment. She hadn't wanted Katie to call, and force another ride on her. She couldn't take that. After what she'd said, after everything that had happened. She couldn't sit there in that car with Katie. She cared too much about the shy bassist to put her through that kind of suffering.

No. Summer frowned at her image in the mirror above her bathroom sink. That sounded too self-righteous. The truth was, she didn't want to hear it not ring. She didn't want to not pick it up, and not hear her good friend's deeply concerned voice not demanding where she was and how she intended to get home. And that was why she'd kept it off for that past week. So she couldn't hear its deafening silence. She turned it on now, though she didn't know why. The bright screen lit up, and the message, '13 missed calls', greeted her. She clicked on it, viewing the numbers. All Kyle. Except for the odd one. Zack's. For a moment, her finger lay on redial. She pulled away tossing the phone in her pack.

The reflection in the mirror was an ugly one. Summer had long since given in to the frumpy look to match her frumpy feelings. Her hair was straight, stringy, greasy. She hadn't been taking her daily showers. Her face was pale, dark brown ringed her eyes, and her lips were slightly chapped. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and loose-fitting sweat pants. She tugged the shirt off over her head, and frowned at her little white cotton bra. Rock. She wasn't rock. She wasn't punk, she wasn't alternative, she wasn't jazz, blues, folk, gospel, or ska. She pouted, before rolling her lips in and pressing them together. Hell. She wasn't even emo.

Summer stuck her tongue out at the image, and it returned the gesture. She continued undressing, stepping in the shower and reveling in the water's rejuvenating ability. She'd forgotten how good a shower could feel, rushing over her skin, sinfully erasing her day, peeling back the layers of pain and hurt, grief and sorrow, to reveal a fresh start. She lathered shampoo into her scalp, rinsed it out, beginning the ritual of washing her hair. Another massaged application of shampoo, another rinse cycle, and then conditioner. She picked up her loofah, squirting some body wash in it and scrubbing her skin fiercely. Droplets fell from her face, rolling down her cheeks, and splattering to the porcelain ground. Were they tears? She couldn't tell in the shower. And she smiled at that knowledge, or lack thereof.

Clean and fresh, Summer groped the wall for a towel, and stepped from the shower, slapping the water valve off. She dried her body, patting the fluffy cloth against her skin, and sighing. The feeling endowed by the shower was gone. All that was left was the steam and her thoughts.

"What'll I wear?" she asked the empty air, as though hearing the question aloud would make her care. She took a deep, shaky breath, before exiting the bathroom and rummaging her closet for clothes.

They would be on their way to the gig by now, she realized, glancing at the clock. Dewey would be driving the crew, Zack following behind with anyone that didn't fit in the van. They would be arguing over the radio, she knew. The girls would want to listen to something more soft, the boys something more punk. Then Zack would settle the debate by choosing his favorite, the classics. And nobody could argue with the classics.

Summer tugged out a blouse and skirt. She tossed them to the bed, ringing out her hair and rubbing it. She let it fall damp around her shoulders, pulling on some lingerie and the skirt. She walked back towards the bathroom, plugging her blow-dryer in and switching it on. The heat quickly permeated her wet locks, and she worked the hot air around her head, scrunching her hair and busying herself with drying the mess. She probably would have taken a seat in Zack's car, with Katie and Freddy and Alicia. She would be sitting, uncomfortably in the corner of the backseat, watching the others talking loudly, laughing. She would make a comment, about homework, or how Zack should concentrate more on the road, and they would give her disapproving clucks of annoyance. Then she would give an anxious rant about the upcoming concert, and they would all laugh at her. "Don't worry, Summer," they would say, "It's not like you're performing. It's not like you're in the band."

Satisfied that every strand of hair was dry enough, Summer unplugged the blow-dryer and replaced it in the cabinet under the sink. She left the bathroom, finding her blouse and slipping it on, before noticing the young man standing in her doorway. She jumped, startled, spinning wide-eyed.

"Austin, what are you doing in here? Don't you know how to knock?" she demanded. Her brother leaned against the doorframe, giving her a once over.

"I heard something funny, the other day," he started, and she shook her head, turning back into the bathroom in search for a brush.

"I don't have time," she muttered, running the hardwire brush through her tangles, coming back into the room to stare at her brother with reproach and a look that said, 'what are you still doing in my room?'

"Okay. Mom probably does though," he smirked, beginning out the door. Summer took a moment to think of all the meanings behind that statement.

"Wait," she called, "What?" He turned back, his eyes glinting with mischief. Whatever it was, it was good.

"Oh, I just heard that…you know, a few of my friends from school saw a girl, strikingly similar to you, at the amusement park on Tuesday with some boy," he told her, and her heart sank. It _was _good. She took a heavy breath, heart fluttering madly in her throat, as her mind reeled.

"I was at school Tuesday," she finally lied. But her eyes were shining, her voice quivering. She never was a very good liar. Austin's smirk turned into a full fledged grin. He shut the bedroom door behind him, leaning against it and crossing his arms over his chest.

"So you actually ditched," he taunted, and she shook her head, turning away, "Was it with the same guy you're going out with tonight? Because if mom knew what a negative influence he was on…"

"No," Summer spat, "It wasn't him. What are you going to do…? Tell mom?"

"Maybe," he said, his smile never faltering, "Who was the guy?"

"Like I would tell you," she mumbled. He made a face. She felt her body tense, saw his muscles ripple slightly. She moved, he moved faster, grabbing her arm and twisting it behind her back, his free arm wrapped about her collar, holding her against his body.

"Tell me who it was," he commanded.

"Let go of me!" she hissed. He tightened his grasp, bending her arm at an unnatural angle. She bit her tongue, gasping slightly, and attempting to pull away. She wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of hearing or seeing her pain.

"Tell me, _Punky_," he pressed, nails digging into her flesh.

"Oh god," she moaned, squeezing her eyes closed, "Freddy, it was Freddy! God, get off me!" He let her go, backing up, his face scrunched as he tried to put a face to the name. She pulled her arm to her chest, examining the damage. A little skin was curled up, white and dead, but nothing serious.

"Isn't he the drummer in that stupid band?"

"Yes," she stammered, then adding quickly, "And School of Rock is not a stupid band!"

"The same guy you were crying about all those times?"

"Why are you here? If you know about me ditching Tuesday, why come here and throw it around in my face? Why not just tell mom and get it over with?" Summer spat, suddenly angry. She most certainly did not cry _about_ Freddy Jones. She sniffed indignantly. She cried _because _of Freddy Jones. There was a distinct difference.

"You want me to tell mom? Okay, I'll go tell mom," Austin hissed, moving to fling open the door. Summer panicked, her chest heaving. She grabbed onto his arm.

"Please," she begged, tears already spilling down her cheeks, "Please don't tell mom, please. What do you want, Austin? Just don't tell her…please. I'll do anything." A wicked semblance of a smile slid over his face as he looked down at her.

"It would really kill you if I told mom, wouldn't it?"

"What do you want?" she asked carefully.

"Nothing, right now," he shrugged, his evil smirk still in place, "I'm just going to hold on to this, for when I need it."

"I hate you," Summer stated evenly and Austin frowned. They stood at a dead standstill, silent.

The tension broke when Summer's pack in the bathroom emitted a high-pitched rendition of Pink Floyd's Brick In the Wall. She turned away from him, backing up into her bathroom and digging in her pack for the phone. She flipped it open, not even bothering to check the number, expecting it to be Kyle.

"Hello," she answered, her voice a slight whisper.

"Summer," she was so shocked to hear that voice croak from the phone, she nearly dropped it, "I tried to call you before."

"I know, Zack, I turned my phone off," Summer managed to stutter, "What did you want? To apologize," she hadn't meant for it to sound so much like a scoff. She didn't want him to apologize. She was sick of it. Sick of them all saying sorry, making her feel worse than she already did, because they hadn't really done anything wrong. She had. She'd screwed everything up, but she wasn't sure how she could have gone about things more delicately.

"No," he replied, and she wasn't sure if she was relieved or hurt. She heard the click of her door as Austin left the room, "I just…did a lot of thinking."

"Oh," Summer murmured, "About?"

"What you said, and what Freddy said, and some things the others said while you weren't there. By the way, you should call Katie."

"Why? Does she want to talk to me? She could always call…"

"Why should she have to?"

Summer chewed her lower lip, sinking to the floor and drawing her knees up to her chest. He was right, why should she have to? Summer had screwed up. Katie shouldn't have to be the one to try and bridge that gap that Summer kept thrusting between them.

"I'm sorry, Zack," she whispered, barely audible.

"Excuse me? What?"

"About what I said. I didn't mean it, most of it, at least. I was just…god, I don't know. Why did you call?"

"I…because…well, I just haven't had the chance to say how I felt about everything, and…it's just…never mind, I shouldn't of bothered."

"Zack, wait," Summer cried, "Please, just talk to me. Tell me. I want to know. I want someone to honestly tell me how they feel about this whole situation."

"No, Summer, you don't," Zack said evenly, "You don't want me to be honest. You don't want to know everything I've been feeling, and thinking about you and this goddamned situation."

"I do." she meekly whispered. They were silent for what seemed an eternity, but was probably more along the lines of a few minutes.

"Why didn't you just tell him 'no'?" Zack finally spoke, "Why are you doing this, Summer? Are you testing us? Do you really want to see how much you mean to all of us? Because this isn't the best goddamned way to go about things. We want you to stay, we made that clear, at least we think we did. Or we wanted you to stay."

"You don't understand…"

"Damn straight I don't! School of Rock means the world to me, I thought it meant the world to you too, and suddenly you're intent on leaving? Hell, Summer, did anything Dewey taught us sink in? Kyle _is _THE MAN! And we…we are a band! You have to be loyal to the band…"

"No. You guys are the band," Summer snapped, "I'm nobody! Useless, remember? You said it yourself, I don't even need to be at every practice, hell, I don't need to be at any practices! You guys don't need me!"

"Summer, please," Zack mumbled, "I'm not Freddy. I don't think cramming my ideas down your throat are going to make you see things my way. So I don't want to get in a contest to see who can say the cruelest things louder. I just…I need to know…did none of it mean anything to you? Did all that time, did everything that went down in School of Rock, just…pass over your head, just…completely…is it like it never happened?"

"No," Summer whimpered, laying her head against her knee, tears splattering down her legs to the ground, "I love the band, Zack. I love all of you guys. And everything that happened, they're the best times I can ever remember having…it's just…I felt…well…I mean…I didn't feel like I was a part of any of it. You don't know what it's been like for me, the past few years. Watching you guys on stage, and the crew running around making things happen, and me…standing around…watching everyone. If Kyle is The Man, then so am I. Because Freddy's right, I am the same Summer Hathaway I was in fifth grade. I'm still looking to get straight A's and the most gold stars. Because a huge part of me really wants this. A huge part of me really wants to manage Kyle's band, because of the great opportunity it is. Because of how greatly it'll affect my career. Because maybe my mom'll finally tell me, 'you did a good job, Summer. I'm proud of you'."

"Summer…" Zack whispered, lamenting her name with his soft breath.

"It gets worse, Zack," she went on, "I've never wanted friends. Because I've never had real friends. I'm scared, Zack, I'm so goddamned scared to commit myself to School of Rock, and everyone in School of Rock. I guess I'm getting stage fright. But be honest, with me and with yourself, do you really like Summer Hathaway? Do you really like her over organization, her drive to succeed, her annoying know-it-all manner? If I leave the band, to manage Kyle's, you won't, will you? I'll get on your nerves, drive you up the wall. We weren't real friends, Zack, were we? Take a good look around at all your band mates. Sure, you say 'hi' to all of them in the halls at school, maybe stop and chat with them awhile, but who do you call more, who do you hang out with more outside of school and practice, who do you laugh with harder, joke around with more, whose company would you rather be in over the rest? Rock was our sheep skin. Pull it back, and what have you got? A bunch of kids that are nothing alike, have nothing in common, and would otherwise, want nothing to do with one another."

"Don't say that," Zack finally managed, his voice quavering. It sounded weak.

"I'm sorry. I'm being a bitch, again, huh? Making a point of things everybody would rather just ignore," Summer persisted, "Are you going to miss that about me, Zack? When this whole thing blows over, and we hate each other, because of all the awful things that went down? Because we weren't real friends."

"Do you want me to hate you? Because it sure sounds like you do."

"No," Summer sobbed, "I don't. I really don't want you to hate me, Zack. And I really don't want the rest of the band to hate me either. But…it's inevitable, right? I'm not the best of people. I'm surprised you've all put up with me as long as you have. I really am a bitch. I'm just saving time, Zack. Making it easier for you guys to hate me…not for you, but for me. Because I'm selfish too. It'll hurt less, for me, if I give you a reason to hate me, rather than just have you all wake up and decide you hate me one day. So that I don't have to lie alone at night wondering why. I'm a control freak to the end. I want to control how you guys feel about me…when you guys hate me." He was silent a moment. His breathing, soft and steady, the only indication he was still on the line. Obviously, he didn't understand, and he didn't know what to say.

"Summer, do you really want to manage Kyle's band?"

"I already told you, a huge part of me does."

"Okay," Zack took a deep unsteady breath, "Do you really want to leave School of Rock behind?" There was a momentary pause.

"No."

"Wholeheartedly?" Zack pressed, bracing himself for the answer.

"No. A part of me does want to leave."

"Because you're scared," Zack surmised, trying to force down the biting bitter in his tone, "That we're not your _real_ friends?"

"No."

"What?" Zack was taken aback. Just when he thought he had her figured out.

"It doesn't matter, if you're my real friends or not. It's business. I may never get a chance like this again. Don't let opportunity just walk by, it doesn't knock twice, you've heard all of those, right?"

"Summer," Zack sighed, exasperated, "No matter what happens in life, you're going to succeed. Because you're smart, and motivated, and you're a leader. You are only sixteen and you've already been given this huge opportunity. This is not going to be the last great chance dangled in your face! But that doesn't change that you are still only _sixteen_. This is the time in your life that you should make the choices that you _want _to make, to make the decisions that _make you happy_! And not even worry about whether it's the right one to further your career and benefit you in the future! You need to think long and hard about what your priorities are, not in the future, but right now as a sixteen year old girl!"

"He said he loves me," Summer interrupted, quietly.

"What? Who?"

"Kyle. That day, Tuesday, in the house. He said he loves me. That he knows it's sudden, and I don't have to say it back, or feel the same way, yet. But he loves me. And he has said it everyday since," Summer explained. Zack was quiet, stunned, "And I've been hanging out with his friends. I feel like I belong with them. Sure, a part of me wishes I was hanging out with the band, with School of Rock…but then I remember, I was never included with you guys like I am with Kyle and his group. They ask me what I think, what I feel, about certain things. And they actually listen."

"We ask you those things, too," Zack argued.

"'_If School of Rock could open for any band of our choice, who would you guys choose_?' Do you remember that question? "

"I asked all of you guys. You could have answered!"

"To what respect? No, Zack, you asked the bassist, the drummer, and the back-up singer. I just happened to be there," Summer stammered, "Because I'm the manager, right? I'm not about the music. So whatever band I choose is automatically overlooked, because I'm probably just choosing one that could help further the band, not because they really rock. Right?"

"That's not true…"

"But it is. It's been that way before. My opinion's never been respected, because…because I am The Man, aren't I?"

"Summer…"

The doorbell downstairs rang, and Summer peeked out the door at the clock. It couldn't be Kyle, he would be way too early. But that was alright, Zack didn't know that.

"I have to go, my date is here."

"Summer, wait, one last thing," Zack called, and Summer waited, a part of her not even wanting to hang up the phone, wanting for Zack to say something astounding to erase all her doubt and make everything right again, "I just want you to think…just think about it. Who are you going to choose? Huh? A boy you've just recently met who whispers sweet things in your ear and tells you he loves you every chance he gets but has of yet to prove that it's true, or the group of friends who have shown you time and time again how much they care about you even if they don't realize they don't say it enough?"

"Good night, Zack, and good luck tonight at the gig, not that you guys need it," Summer said firmly, hanging up the phone without waiting for his reply. She was trembling now. It had taken all her strength not to break into uncontrollable sobs. She buried her face in her knees, tears cascading from her eyes.

0-0-

Freddy looked blearily at his clock, the phone ringing insistently in his ear. He reached his hand over the dresser and grabbed the offensive noisemaker. He looked at the number, realized he couldn't focus on it well enough to read it, and answered it instead.

"Hello?" he slurred, groaning as he pulled himself into a semi-sitting position. The blood stampeded to his head, and he slipped back down to his pillow in agony, slapping an arm over his eyes to block out what little blaringly bright illumination came in through his window from the streetlights and moon.

"Freddy? Get up," Zack's voice screamed in his ear, and he winced.

"Not so loud…shit…"

"Are you drunk?"

"No. I don't think so," he rolled onto his belly, peering over the side of the bed at the empty bottles on the ground. He scrunched his nose and peered at the clock on his bedside table, reading the time. He laid back on the bed, "Nope," he said firmly, "I'm hung over." Zack swore loudly, causing another grimace to crease Freddy's drowsy features.

"Get out of bed, get dressed. Katie's on her way over to pick you up," he hissed.

"What? Why?" Freddy questioned, his voice hoarse, as he, himself, was dazed and confused.

"We have a show tonight in half-an-hour, that's why! Now get your lazy, alcoholic ass out of bed!"

"I'm not an alcoholic," Freddy retorted.

"Freddy, you're hung over and you're passed out, I can tell. You were out like a log, I've been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes. I bet you can't even remember the last several hours. You weren't at a party, so you've been drinking alone…"

"Thank you, Mister AA, but I know the symptoms of an alcoholic," Freddy growled, then muttering under his breath, "After all, my dad _is _one." He flopped to his side, moaning miserably, "I just had a few drinks this morning. How come nobody told me we had a show tonight?"

"Because…well…nobody knew," Zack admitted sheepishly, "We're in a rush! We're already late. Just get up and get dressed. Grab your drumsticks and get ready to rock. _Please_?"

"Okay, okay," Freddy murmured.

"Right. Katie should be there any minute now. Hurry." There was a click and the dial tone began its monotonous buzz.

"Well, good-bye to you too," Freddy muttered, hanging up the phone and attempting to tug himself out of bed. He frowned at his closet, that seemed so far away. How come nobody knew they had a gig that night?

0-0-

Summer quickly finished getting herself ready. She smeared some lipstick on, powdered her cheeks and nose, and eyelids; then pressed in some small berets to hold her hair out of her face. She slipped on some dress shoes, as the finishing touch, and frowned at her image in the mirror. You would have looked out-of-place at a rock show, she noted, but you look perfect for a boy band concert. She couldn't discern if this was good or bad, so she turned, picking up her pack and pausing to turn her cell phone off again, before making her way out of her room and down the stairs.

Kyle, to Summer's shock, was sitting on the living room couch, settled in to the white cushion, scratching a disgruntled looking Felix behind the ears.. For a moment, she recalled Freddy's initial reaction to the cat's presence and snickered beneath her breath. Then, remembering she was supposed to be infuriated with Freddy, she quickly dismissed the thought. She had something new to worry about, after all. Namely, her mother sitting across from Kyle, chatting with him. Austin stood in the background, watching the television with disinterest, a soda in his hands. Her heart dragged out a few 'badums', as she staggered the rest of the way down the stairs.

"Kyle," she started hesitantly, and her mother paused in their conversation, as all three occupants of the room turned to look at her, "When did you get here?" Kyle smiled, widely, standing and crossing the room to put an arm around Summer's waist and press a kiss to her cheek.

"Twenty minutes or so ago," he answered casually, as she blushed from their sudden closeness, and tried to angrily banish pervading thoughts of another boy who had held her that close once before.

"Should we get going?" Summer asked, mind reeling at the possible things Kyle could have been chatting about with her mother. She saw her mother, from the corner of her eye, rising from the couch as well.

"We have an hour before we have to leave," Kyle told her, "We're in no rush."

"Oh," Summer murmured, "Then I guess we'll hang around here…until then."

"Summer," her mother called, and she turned to the older woman with underlying anxiety, "Could you help me in the kitchen with something real quick?" It wasn't a question. Summer nodded, following her mother down the hall. They paused in the dining room, and for a moment, Summer thought to ask, 'what do you need help with?', but she knew better.

"I really like Kyle," Summer started instead, her voice just above a whine.

"So do I," her mother cut her off, and her jaw almost dropped from the shock, "He's smart, going places," her mother crossed the room, busying herself with straightening the already clean table, "And he's got a lot of potential. He's already signed with a recording company, now that's big. He told me he's asked you to manage his group."

"I don't know if I will…"

"Why not?" her mother turned on her, lips rigid, white around the edge, "Because of that little band, School of Rock? You're wasting your time with them…"

"Mom," Summer started.

"No. I've let you keep with it for so long, and it's such a waste of time. And do you think those kids, those 'rockers', are your friends? They're going to be nothing with their rock 'n roll, and they're starting to influence you, with laziness and lack of motivation," her mother snapped, "You know, if you keep letting offers like this slip by you, you'll get nowhere in life. And then you'll be a nothing. And Kyle's not going to want a nothing. He'll leave you for a smarter, prettier, more motivated young woman. You need to get your life together, and your priorities straight! It's probably because of that ridiculous rock band that your grades are suffering…"

"I got one B, mother!"

"Don't take that tone with me, you ungrateful brat. I don't work my bones dry, to pay fifteen-thousand dollars a year for you to screw around and let chances like this pass you by! That boy out there could very well be your future."

"I'm only sixteen," Summer started, Zack's words reverberating in her mind, "My priorities mean shit right now, and you…" she should have felt it coming. Her mother's hand struck across her face, flesh smacking flesh. Her head moved to the side from the sheer shock of the assault, and left only a stinging imprint of the hand behind. She bit her lower lip, to keep from crying out, and made no move to cradle the injured cheek. Her mother's face contorted from anger to horror to aghast and then sorrow. She reached forward, grabbing Summer around the neck and pulling the young woman to her.

"Why do you make me hurt you?" her mother whimpered, holding her rigid daughter with a roughly gentle childish hold, "You know I don't want to. Why do you make me mad? Why do you disappoint me like this?"

"I'm sorry, mom," Summer murmured, unmoving, numb. She couldn't think to say anything else. Her mother was right. She was a disappointment. She always screwed up. She made people hurt her. She made people mad at her. Her mother released her, straightening.

"Do you think those kids in that rock band care about what happens in your life? Do you think they care about your future? They're all too self-absorbed. And they're jealous of you, you know that? They're just using you, Summer, and they're dragging you down. But I care about you, and I care about what happens to you, and I care about your future. I want the best for you, the chances I never had. I want you to manage that boy's band," her mother said firmly, "I want you to take him up on this offer."

"I…" Summer began, then silently, "Of course, mother." Her mother reached forward, smoothing Summer's hair and placing a stiff hand on her shoulder.

"I think this boy will be a good influence on you," she stated, before beginning back towards the living room, calling over her shoulder, "Lord knows you need it.".

Summer held back, chewing her lower lip. She felt like crawling back upstairs, curling up in bed, and fading away. She straightened her skirt, jutted out her chin, touched her cheek and winced slightly, before striding back towards the living room.

0-0-

Miss Mullins took her coat off, entering the jiving dance club. Music was pounding off the walls, the dance floor was alive with bodies moving, and colors were flashing through the air. She weaved her way awkwardly through the tables, backing into someone, knocking a chair over, apologizing thoroughly, before finding herself face to face with the portly, original rock diva, Dewey. His usually zealous expression was sullen, and he barely managed a forced smile.

"Hey, Ros," he mumbled. Well, as much as he could sound like he was mumbling while attempting to shout over the music, "Backstage is quieter, we can talk there."

He took her hand, so she didn't get lost in the crowd, and didn't notice the color that crept over her cheeks. She tried to see School of Rock perform whenever she could, becoming an almost groupie in her own right, and shrugging it off as her just wanting to support the kids. In truth, it really helped her release a lot of the stress from work and her life in general. Lost in that crowd of cheering people, seeping into a half-consciousness, music overwhelming her, body moving to the rhythm of the song, the lyrics pouring into her soul. She felt more alive than ever. And she felt special, being allowed backstage. She was told she could watch the show from back there, but it just didn't have the same affect over her as watching it in the crowd.

And a small part of her, though she would never admit it, liked spending the time with Dewey.

He had been right. Backstage was quieter. The music could still be heard, though slightly muffled. She could see most of the band sitting around, the others busying themselves with breaking down the equipment. They all wore the same forlorn looks as Dewey. Immediately, she sensed something was wrong.

"Sorry, I didn't get to see the show. The meeting ran a little longer than I expected," she announced, and a few of the kids lifted their heads to acknowledge their principle, "How'd things go?" There were a few murmurs, mutters under breath, but no straightforward answers. She scrunched her nose, frowning, "Um…is everything…alright?"

"Well, Miss Mullins, it was kind of…well…it…uh…" Zack attempted.

"The show was…" Alicia started.

"We…well…um…" Marta stammered.

"It really sucked," Freddy spat, kicking at a trashcan in anger, then falling in a plop to the grungy looking couch set up around a table, much like a little lobby.

"Oh, what happened?" Miss Mullins questioned, pressing her glasses back up her nose with her index finger, crossing her arms over her chest, and peering expectantly out at the band. She had never gotten that reaction from the usually pumped, usually energetic, usually cheerful-to-perform kids.

"Would you like a list?" Dewey muttered, taking a seat next to Freddy, "I mean, what _didn't _happened? We rock! We know we rock! But we were really out of the zone today…"

"Start from the beginning," Miss Mullins soothed, "What happened?"

"The _very _beginning?" Zack moaned, "Okay. We didn't know we had a gig tonight until last minute…so we were late. Which means our pay for the gig is docked."

"Then Lawrence's keyboard died," Marco sighed, "Bad wire or something…"

"And then Dewey broke two strings on his guitar," Zack went on.

"And nobody remembered to bring extras, or extra guitars," Frankie muttered.

"Or my high hat and one of my snare drums," Freddy added.

"Or our microphones," Tomika said.

"Or our amps," Eleni joined in.

"And my lightshow, which was half-finished anyhow, was somehow deleted," Gordie groaned,

"And I didn't have a backup saved."

"And it doesn't matter anyways, because we didn't have those other things. So we played the show without a keyboardist, an incomplete drum set, using the house microphones and amps, and a four string guitar," Zack growled, "So, yeah, saying it really sucked is putting it mildly!"

"Tonight was the first night in the history of School of Rock that we got booed off stage," Dewey roared, "We got booed off stage, Ros!"

"And even before that," Michelle said, "We weren't really prepared. We usually have schematics of the stage area we'll be performing on, and a tactical game plan, days in advance. And we practice a lot more."

"Well, obviously you need to find the root of the problem. Who schedules the practices?" Miss Mullins asked.

"Summer does," the band murmured in response.

"Oh, well, who draws up the schematics of the club?"

"Summer does."

"Who tests all the equipment to make sure it's all in working order before the show?"

"Summer does."

"Well, who makes sure everything is loaded and ready to take to the show?"

"Summer does."

"Who keeps track of the shows," Miss Mullins cried in exasperation, sensing a pattern.

"Summer does."

"Alright, then who…"

"Whatever it is," Katie interjected, "Summer probably does it." Miss Mullins sighed, pursing her lips together.

"Well then, where is Summer?"

Freddy kicked the table in front of him, and it tipped over, crashing loudly to the ground. He slouched down low in the cushion, crossing his arms over his chest.

"With that bastard," he seethed.

"We've kind of been having…well…" Dewey began to explain. He trailed off, before tossing his hands in the air and standing on his feet once more, pacing the room, "How could she let us down like this? I refuse to believe that we rely on her this much! Come on, guys! We're all capable people! If she wants to turn her back on the band and her friends, then so be it! We're _independent_ guys. We don't need her! What we need is…well…what we need is….we need…"

"What we need is a new manager," Freddy supplied from the couch, as Dewey slumped back down.

"Any suggestions?" Tomika questioned him haughtily, placing a hand on her hip. The blonde looked about, the gears in his head slowly winding.

"Lawrence, you're smart," Freddy cried, sitting up straight. The shy Asian boy shook his head.

"I'm not as straightforward as Summer. I don't have her…ambition…her…ability to get what she wants. I can't tell people what to do," he whispered quietly, looking awkwardly at the ground.

"Ugh," Freddy moaned, "Gordie…?"

"I do special effects. I may be a genius, but I'm not very organized."

"Er…Dewey?"

"Come on, with this raw rock power, do you honestly think I can _manage _a band? I am a visionary! Visionaries do not manage, they make visions happen! What happens when a visionary takes over managing his vision? Nothing! It's all just visions, one after the other."

"_O_kay. Miss Mullins?" Freddy meekly attempted. The woman shook her head.

"I am a principle," she pointed out what was already well known amongst the group, "I already have a lot to deal with."

"Zack Attack, man, you are dedicated to this band. You are all about this band! You…"

"Are not Summer," Zack finished for him.

"Come on, you guys!" Freddy cried, "It's not like Summer was one of a kind," but as he said it, he knew it wasn't true.

"Face it, Freddy," Katie sighed, "We can't just get anybody. We need Summer." He sank into the couch, laying his head against the back of the seat.

"So then, what do we do?"

"Oh no. We've done this before," Zack quickly stated, "Didn't work. Remember our solution? It got us…here."

"Look, maybe you all should tell me what's going on?" Miss Mullins suggested, "And, perhaps I can give you a few ideas on what to do?"

"Fill her in, Mr. S," Freddy said, pulling himself up and patting Dewey's shoulder as he walked from backstage towards the dance club, "I'm going to enjoy what little is left of this night. Coming guys?" Reluctantly, the others followed, making their ways to the music and mass of tangled bodies. Miss Mullins edged her way to the couch, before sitting stiffly next to the lounging Dewey.

"Alright, so…what happened?" she questioned. He groaned.

"Well…" Then, in a manner, complete with erratic facial expressions, quick dramatic tones, and wildly thrashing hand gestures, "She got that date, the kid asked her to manage his band, then we had a fight, she decided she can't manage two bands at once, we were trying to be nice, then Summer was crying, and GOD, we're so screwed!"

"Um…" Miss Mullins shifted slightly, cleared her throat, and furrowed her brow, "Maybe…could you start over? And maybe, be a little more…I don't know…detailed?" Dewey sighed, then licked his lips, pushed his hair back from his eyes, cleared his throat, and began again.

0-0-

Immediately, Michelle and Alicia took to the dance floor, as Marta and Eleni hovered around giggling and talking about boys standing in the crowd. Leonard, Gordie and Marco found a seat, both daring one another to go talk to a girl, and Frankie looked as though he were considering going to ask Michelle to dance, when a girl came to him and began chatting. Freddy disappeared in the crowd, much to Zack's displeasure, who instead stood around the DJ, Katie the only one sticking with him. They both decided to amuse themselves talking with the DJ and trying to convince him that you could dance just as well to KISS or Guns 'n Roses as Pink or Jessica Simpson. Katie even agreed to try flirting with the DJ while Zack snuck an AC/DC CD in, but it didn't work out. Billy looked as though he was giving some overdone girls fashion advice. They didn't look as though they appreciated it.

Lawrence found himself a secluded booth seat. He wasn't exactly a partier, and he didn't really like the loud music, and brightly flashing lights. And crowds made him claustrophobic. But then, he couldn't exactly leave alone. He didn't want his friends to think of him as square, as a nerd or anti-social. So he settled for simply watching, hoping they'd tire themselves out soon and leave. He was startled, when Tomika sat beside him. They had been spending a lot of time together, at practices, chatting and talking. She was sweet, kindhearted, intelligent, and read almost as often as himself. She never acted superior to him, always took the time to say 'hi' to him in the halls everyday and always stopped to talk with him, often times meeting him at his locker in the mornings. Even though she was so popular and he was just…Lawrence. Needless to say, her company was welcome. He smiled a greeting to her, and she returned it.

For what seemed a long while, they sat quietly next to one another. Their shoulders mere centimeters away. The music was so loud, both knew a conversation would be next to nearly impossible to hold. But that stiff and awkward silence between them was much more piercing than the music.

Finally, Tomika leaned close to whisper in his ear, "I really don't like these kinds of places." Then she sat back, and Lawrence was left for a moment to think about how warm her breath had felt against his skin. After taking the time, to consider why he suddenly felt so flustered, he leaned towards her.

"Me too," he said, as though they were conspirators. He leaned back, sitting up straight. He had never whispered in a girl's ear before, and even if it was Tomika, whom he'd known most of his life and was very good friends with, his heart was still pounding at the daring move. But he didn't expect anymore of the conversation, turning his attention back to the dance floor, watching enviously at how comfortable the rest of the band seemed to slip into the crowd.

"You want to get out of here?" He was surprised, when her breath blasted against his ear again, her soft voice a relief compared to the abrasive rhythms pounding from the club speakers. He looked at her, and she was smiling shyly, uncertainly at him. The question was one he had waited many times before for one of the band members to ask him. An escape, an opening, an out from the party atmosphere. He nodded, hoping he didn't appear too eager.

"Very much, yes," he replied, the words spilling out, before he could stop them. So much for not appearing too eager. Her smile widened, and she took up her purse and led the way to the door.

The fresh air and serenity of the outside was a refreshing change to the inside of the club. It had recently rained, and the strong bitter smell of water was still in the air. Everything seemed to glimmer with raindrops, and there was a slight chill. Lawrence, having been bred the gentlemen, offered up his coat to Tomika, who really wasn't heavily clothed in anything to keep the chill out.

"Thanks," she whispered, slipping the garment on, and folding her arms over each other to gather up more warmth.

Lawrence had grown from a shy and awkward young boy to a shy and awkward young man. He was shorter than Tomika, though only by a couple inches. His hair was slightly longer, coming to just above his ears, and Billy had opted to spike it with gel that evening. The dried hair-stuff felt stiff and strange against his scalp, hard like a rock, and brittle. He didn't like it so much. He had slimmed, considerably, and his features weren't quite so childish as before, but sharp and exact. He had the scruff stubs of thin dark hair beneath his nose. He'd wanted to grow a mustache for a short period of time, thinking it would make him look more distinguished, cooler even, but was disappointed to find he couldn't grow much more than a little baby fuzz. Facial hair just didn't appear to be in his future. His black rimmed glasses were settled on his nose, he'd gotten square frames his last visit to the optometrist. He liked the way they set on his face. He could proudly say his tan was natural, as well, if anyone at school would ask. He was a nerd. While people now noticed him more than when he was in fifth grade, he just couldn't seem to shake that image in his mind. That he was, still the un-cool Lawrence he always had been. And he most certainly knew, he was incredibly lucky to be walking beside Tomika that night. Any girl would be an accomplishment, of course, but Tomika wasn't any girl.

Lawrence took a moment to study her, from the corner of his eye. She hadn't changed a great deal from childhood in appearance so much as attitude. Of course, She had lost her baby fat, and while she wasn't what you would call overweight, she wasn't exactly thin as well. She was in between, voluptuous, with wide hips, a soft belly, broad shoulders, and a well-rounded bosom. She had her short hair braided back, and her cherubic round face seemed bright in the light of the streetlamps and damp air. It seemed that only one word could aptly describe her. Soft. Her features were soft, her smile was soft, her voice was soft, her laughter was soft, and her personality was soft. She wasn't cute, or pretty, or sweet looking. She was just beautiful. And her confidence made her attributes shine brilliantly. She had always been a beautiful girl, but before Dewey had come, she had held herself in a different way. She would sit quietly behind Lawrence, hiding in her self-consciousness, convinced she was fat and plain and that everyone would laugh should she speak or try to befriend anyone. But now, she strutted around with her head held high. She sang, like an angel, on stage in front of crowds of people, with an angelic beaming smile, personality, and look to match. And now she spoke to people, starting conversations when she had once sat and waited patiently for others to speak to her, and she set out to befriend people. Swelling with pride, Lawrence thought, he was one of those people she had set out for.

"So," Tomika began, probably annoyed by the quiet that was usual between the easily shyest members of the band, "What do you think of this whole Summer thing?" Lawrence took a deep breath. It had to come up sooner or later, he sighed.

"I don't know," he mumbled. Great. Witty _and _brilliant, he silently mocked himself. It was so easy talking to her in school or at Dewey's apartment. Why couldn't he manage to form any conversational base in that chill night atmosphere walking side-by-side her? Her soft smile never faltered, and she looked at him briefly, almost as though expecting him to continue. So he did, "What should I think? Summer is going to leave, and everyone is angry with her, but knows that we need her. Everything is a mess, and…nobody knows what to do. I'm starting to think…well…I'm really starting to think that this is the end of School of Rock." He braced himself for whatever smiting the Rock God would descend upon him for that sincere and blasphemous statement.

"I was thinking the same thing," Tomika confided, and they were silent, contemplating what had just passed. Had they just damned the band?

"You put on a very good performance tonight," Lawrence commented, feeling that it was probably necessary to change the subject before they fell victim to its misery. The last thing he wanted to do was associate depression with Tomika's company.

"Thanks," she breathed.

"But then, you always do," he added carefully, and a blush crept over her cheeks. Something about her, always made him open up, made him more liberal with the things he said, more able to speak his mind, to say and do risky things. He liked that feeling, but at the same time, it made him feel so sick with anxiousness. What if she thought he was stupid, what if he said something, revealed too much of his feelings and emotions, scared her away and was left mortified and alone?

"Thanks. It was too bad you couldn't perform," she replied, "The songs were definitely lacking because of it…"

"The songs were lacking, but I don't think because I wasn't playing," Lawrence told her modestly.

"Yeah. At least you weren't up there when they started booing," Tomika chuckled, "I think one person was saying, 'a group of midgets could do better than this'. Drunks, huh?"

Lawrence couldn't help but laugh. She paused, holding him back before jumping forward into a puddle of water. It splashed up on the both of them, and if it had been any other person, he would have been annoyed or angry that the hem of his pants were now soaked. But he felt a smirk appear across his face, as he watched her leap forward into another puddle and break into a fit of laughter.

"You seem to be having fun," he noted, and she turned to him with a bright grin.

"I love the rain," she informed him, "But not as much…" she spread her arms wide, spinning slightly, "As I love the streets after the rain ends and there's all the puddles and…" she stopped, looking at him with her soft smile, "Sorry. I didn't mean to get you wet."

"I don't mind," he told her honestly, "I'm glad you are enjoying yourself."

They came to the parking lot to stand by the van. It was yet to be loaded up with the band's equipment. Tomika pulled herself up on the hood, sitting with her ankles crossed.

"Why do you like the rain so much?" Lawrence brought himself to ask. He inhaled deeply. There was that daring, risk-taking, openness that she brought out in him.

"Oh, I don't really know," Tomika sighed, laying back on the windshield to stare up at the stars, "I guess it's because of my grandmother."

"Oh?" he prodded her to continue.

"Well, when I was a little girl, my grandmother and I always went for walks, everyday. That was when we lived near her and she watched me, while my parents were at work. When it would rain…she and I always jumped in every puddle we came across," she smiled nostalgically at the memory, "It became almost a contest, to see who could jump in more puddles, who could get the other wetter," she peered down at him with her soft eyes, "What about you? Any fond memories with your grandmother?"

"Well, one lives in China," Lawrence admitted, "And the other is dead. So…no."

"Oh," she mumbled tentatively, before biting her lower lip and looking up at the sky. She seemed sad, almost sympathetic to him. He fidgeted, shoving his hands in his trouser pockets.

"There is…well…one memory," he confided, and she rolled her head to meet his eyes, showing that he had her full attention, "My grandmother, who is dead now, was a great pianist. Far better than me. She used to set me up, at the piano in her house, and we would play several classical pieces."

"Is that why you play the piano?"

"Um…no," he flushed, fidgeting sheepishly, "My parents wanted me to learn the piano. They…I don't want to say they forced it on me, but…I guess my grandmother is why I don't mind playing it so much."

"But you don't like it?" Tomika questioned, evidently in disbelief, but slightly concerned as well. She had sat up, looking down at him with a sadness creeping beneath her soft expression. Was that pity?

"I…" he was stunned, by the inquiry, really. He'd never thought about it before. It had never been about liking it. His parents had insisted he learned to play, and being the good Chinese boy he was, he felt no need to do anything but oblige them. In all those years of concertos, and recitals, of practicing long hours in the night, of being berated time and time again with classical music, Bach, Beethoven, Chopin, Mozart, he'd never once thought to wonder if he liked it at all. "I don't know," he stammered.

"You don't know?" Tomika raised an eyebrow, "How can you not know?"

"I just…don't know," he whimpered, and without realizing it, frustration rushed through his bloodstream. Suddenly, words were spilling from his mouth, words he couldn't control and things, statements, proclamations he'd never heard reverberated in his mind before, "It's because of my parents. My parents are why I play. They have all these plans for me. I don't need to think about whether I like it, it's not about what I like. It's about what my parents want. My parents want me to play the piano, and so I do. My parents want me to get good grades, study hard, so I do. My parents want me to dress the way I dress, to read all those books, to become a doctor, to marry a good Chinese girl, have lots of babies, and be very successful. To make lots of money, work hard, give lots of grandchildren, and die. That's my life, planned out by my parents. Whether I like it or not, means nothing to them. I'm to live the typical life of a Chinese boy. And do I like it? I. Don't. Know."

He flushed, taking a deep breath and looking away. Tomika was stunned, silent. He hadn't meant to go off on her. Did he really mean all those things he'd said? He shook his head.

"I am sorry," he whispered. He was surprised, when her fingers brushed against his hand, curling within it.

"I'm sorry, too," she told him. He blushed, realizing his fingers had intertwined, almost subconsciously, with hers, as though it were natural, as though they had held hands like that many times before, as though that was where his hand belonged, wrapped around her own.

0-0-

Miss Mullins took a deep breath, pressing her lips together, and squinting her eyes in concentration. She'd listened to Dewey tell the story of the recent happenings with Summer, as best he could as he didn't have all the facts, and wasn't really a great story teller. He lost focus for a short time, when a song came on that he didn't mind, and he had to sing along, before coming back to reality and asking, "what were we talking about?" Eventually, she had a semi-comprehension of what was going on.

"Oh my," was all she could find to comment.

"You got that right, sister," Dewey groaned, "Summer is bailing on us. I feel like all my lessons went in one ear and out the other with that girl! She was my prized student, she'd undergone the wickedest rock transformation! I was so proud of her…" he sniffed, shaking his head, "I can't believe she's doing this to us! What do you think, Ros?"

"Honestly?"

"Yeah. Honestly."

"I don't know what to think," she sighed, "It seems to me Summer doesn't know what she wants, which band she wants to choose. Which may or may not be a good thing. But then, I've known Summer a long time, and she's anything but indecisive. It sounds like she may be a little scared right now, and maybe, a little uncertain. Perhaps, you're all looking at it wrong. Everyone assumes that she's trying to decide which band is the best opportunity for her. But I think she's just trying to decide whether she wants to stay with School of Rock or not. It does sound like you were right, that she felt a little underappreciated, but maybe it's more than that. Because obviously when you tried to show her some appreciation, it didn't work. I'm really at a loss. I really don't know what could be bothering her."

"Hm…" Dewey mused. He had the look of someone who hadn't really paid attention to everything Miss Mullins had said, but obviously one thing had stuck with him, "So, she can't decide who she wants to go with. Maybe…maybe we need to make that decision for her."

"Oh, Dewey…no, no, no," Miss Mullins cried, shocked.

"No, Ros, you're right," he interrupted, "She's being un-Tinkerbell like. If she's scared to make the decision, we'll just have to help her…"

* * *

END A/N: OH YAY! This was the chapter where I introduced my new pairing, Tomika/Lawrence (if you didn't pick up on that, shame on you, go back and read the passage!) Not to mention, we got a little insight on both of those characters (mostly Lawrence). For his character, I am going a little on what I know about Chinese families, mostly traditional ones. He strikes me as the type who was raised in a traditional Asian household, and I have a few friends who were raised in a similar environment, so I'm going off them for inspiration. And I know a thing or two about Chinese tradition and culture...not as much as Japanese culture...but I can live.

Oh, and so I don't forget, a little Mullins/Dewey interaction.I love that pairing _soooo_ much. I always read stories with them paired together (especially centered around them) because I love their pairing so much! And, I'm absolutely falling in love with this Tomika/Lawrence pairing. I may even like it more than Freddy/Summer! _Gasp_! I'm going to post the next chapter (give you all plenty of time to review...and me time to proofread it...) tomorrow night, I think, and then pick up again on my three day interval updates.

So, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. _**REVEIW**_S, please.

THanks for reading.


	8. You Always Know Your Friends

A/N: GOD! What a bitch getting this chapter up was! I know I said I would have it up yesterday, and come yesterday, it wasn't up! I blame the site. I had every intention of posting it that night, and the site was down! It was in read-only mode! Goddamn! And then this morning, the damn thing wouldn't upload! I had to upload a txt format, which takes away all my paragraghs and styles (bold, italic, etc). With a little innovativeness, however, I got things working, and now...here's chapter 8!

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

Nanners-77: First to review the new chap, how do you feel? Same as before? I was happy to finally update, too. Not being able to update was like...not being able to breathe...well, not that extreme, but still! I'm glad you like the Tomika/Lawrence pairing, and I think everyone here likes the Mullins/Dewey pairing (I'd like to meet someone who doesn't...)

sweetcaroline: They said there were "non-story elements", but they didn't tell me where. Yes, my author's notes did tend to get long, but my chapters were at least three times longer! Which is more than I can say for other author's out there (not you...that may have sounded directed at you, but it's not)! I've read stories where the author's note is like a paragragh, and the chapter is like a sentence. Those stories sucked, and I didn't really read them, actually...I'm glad the Summer/Zack conversation was so powerful...I didn't think it would be. When I was writing it, I was all like, "Are they gonna believe any of this shit their saying..." And then the Summer and her mom thing...let's not open that can of worms yet! I'm sorry I didn't update sooner, but it's up!

closetwriter: I'm sorry tomorrow came with no update. Once again, I blame the site! Man, this site's been pissing me off lately...anyways...I'm glad Summer is getting a little better in your mind, she is my favorite character from the movie. Though, it may be because I just liked Miranda Cosgrove's acting...she was really good, but then they all were. You didn't get the usual over-acting in the movie that comes with child actors, which was awesome.

Swimmerkitti: Yeah, I reached the same conclusion. In fact, in the angry letter I wrote them, I demanded to know their system of checking for abuse in stories. I think what happens is, as soon as they recieve an abuse report, they immediately remove the story without bothering to check out if the story is actually breaking the rule. But I'm not certain...I'd like to know who reported my story, and what _they_ felt was wrong with it.

Alex: I like to make new pairings also. But don't you just get this whole Tomika/Lawrence vibe in the movie? Or maybe that was just me...and don't you just love the actress that plays Tomika (I'd write her name, but I'm afraid I'll spell it wrong...). She was so cute, and a lot of that description of Tomika was what I thought about the actress. She was very soft spoken, and had a lot of soft personality traits. I love Robert Tsai as well! Oh, that makes me so happy that you don't think Summer is mean! God, I thought she was starting to come off as a total bitch...that people wouldn't understand where all her emotion and indecision was coming from.

wyverna: Oh man. You're gonna get me in trouble again, with long A/N and whatnot. OH NO! You're emo! ACK! Well, there's really nothing wrong with emo. Emo has Weezer, and Weezer is great. I'm not so sure about this Jimmy Eats World, though...I'm not very fond of them. And I don't think I've ever listened to Days of Grace. But "Macy's Day Parade" and "When September Ends" are both great songs, so there's no surprise there that you like them. Macy's Day Parade is actually one of my favorite Greenday songs, after Basketcase, and..maybe...before Poprocks and Coke. I have extremely long hair too! But then, I have no fear of being emo...I'm...depends on the day. That is so funny, the whole DJ thing. Actually, Katie and Zack weren't trying to get him to put AC/DC on, they were trying to sneak it in...which...was a failed mission, much to their dismay, I imagine. I've heard the songs they play at dance clubs (why SoR was performing at a dance club, I will never know...) most of them suck. Was his son cute? I'm anti-social too. In middle school, my gym teacher told me, "the girls want to make friends with you, but you're anti-social". I was like, "Gee, that's great for my self-esteem". Shit, it wasn't like the other girls made a huge effort to befriend me anyways. And it's not like I wanted to be friends with all those sluts, druggies, and preps anyways. Yeah, that was a long review, and it kept me thoroughly entertained. And yet, you still needed to post two more. I find that funnier! And I'm totally not bothered by it. If you got more to say, post as much as you want (I need the reviews, and I love hearing from you). I'm totally flattered by your offer to be my beta-reader, but the thing is, when I say proofread, it's just me reading back over my story and making finishing touches. I usually add more detail in places, and change things around. I have a lot of things that seem a little over the top. For instance, in..chapter 3 I think, I changed a band name from Journey to STYX, and in Chapter 5 or 6, I changed something Summer said that made her come off as more of the bitch. I usually don't make a lot of grammar and punctuation errors (though, for some odd reason, my fingers go a little comma crazy...putting them in the most unappropriate of places), and any that you see are usually typos that I missed when reading back over. If I ever consider getting a beta-reader, you are definitely top of my list! I'm glad someone picked up on the cat thing. Did you also notice how Felix's reaction to the two boys was different. Felix was a slight "disgruntled" sitting in Kyle's lap, when he eagerly jumped into Freddy's. Of course, cat's usually go to the person in the room that likes them the least, I guess...well, that's not entirely true, just the one less interested. Long enough reply for you?

Sorry, it's late, guys.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 8: You Always Know Your Friends

Summer stood backstage, watching the light display and the boys on stage, dancing to the music, singing energetically. The crowd was screaming wildly and Summer felt herself overwhelm with their hysteria. She thought that she would probably be screaming along with them, if it weren't for one thing. Her mind was on School of Rock. Kyle sauntered up behind her, slipping an arm around her waist and pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Aren't they great?" he cried into her ear, so as to be heard over the music. It was that same group, the one she'd heard in Kyle's car, the one she'd lied about liking, the one that she'd made fun of with Freddy. The Barber Boys had opened for them. She forced a nod, her stomach knotting. She hated to lie. She wasn't even listening to the group on the stage. And she didn't want to be there. And she wasn't enjoying the music, she found it annoying. She wanted to be…she shook her head. She couldn't think about that, about them.

"I need to…get some fresh air," Summer replied, gently pushing her way towards the exit. Her chest was convulsing, and her heart pounding erratically. She couldn't see straight. She threw the door open, and it slammed shut, heavily behind her. She stumbled towards the curb, before falling to the ground. She tugged out her cell phone, glancing the time, then opening her phonebook, scrolling through it. She stopped on Katie's number. Zack had said she should call Katie.

The door slammed open and Summer started, stuffing her cellphone back into her pocket and spinning to see Kyle leaning in the doorframe looking down on her. He seemed concerned.

"You alright?" he asked. She nodded, "You don't look good, is all."

"I'm fine."

"I know things have been stressful for you lately. Your friends have been giving you a hard time," he mumbled, crossing over to join her on the curb, "I really wanted you to enjoy tonight."

"I am," Summer lied. He frowned, raising a hand to brush her hair from her face.

"You're not having fun. Forget about them. If they didn't want you here, don't you think they'd have said something? If it were me, I would have put up a better fight than they did. They don't know how great you are."

"It's not about that," she whispered.

"I'm sorry. It's not my place to…I just don't understand how they can't see what a great person you are…but then…I do love you," he sighed, letting his hand fall. She missed the warmth, where his fingers had trailed. But something felt strange about them. They were so soft, so smooth. They smelled sweet. They reminded her, oddly in contrast, to another young man's hand and fingers. Suddenly, her skin ached to feel that young man's hands against it. She frowned, looking to the pavement in aghast. What train of thought was that? "Summer," Kyle's voice was startling. Enough to bring her back from her stray meanderings, "Do you…want to talk about it?"

"It's nothing, Kyle," she finally replied firmly, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Do you want to go home?" he questioned. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded. "I'll take you home," he conceded, helping her to her feet.

They reached Summer's house nearly a half-hour later, having spent the time in complete silence. Kyle attempted to make conversation at the beginning, but Summer wasn't feeling very social. Her thoughts kept trailing to things that confused her. Here she was, sitting in the car with her boyfriend, who was perfect in all ways, and she kept thinking about another boy, who was most definitely not perfect in any way. Her mind kept going back to that kiss, that she had done such a good job of completely forgetting before. Had he not forgotten it? Did he always think about it? She blushed, curling her hair around her finger. That was ridiculous. Of all the girls that he had been with, she hardly imagined standing out in his thoughts.

"I'm sorry you didn't have a nice time," Kyle announced, as he stopped in front of the curb of the Hathaway house and put his car in park. He turned to look at her with an apologetic smile, "I'll walk you to your door."

"No, that's alright. I want to sit outside for a while anyways," Summer admitted, giving him a quick peck on the lips and slipping out of the car.

"Summer," he called, and she paused, peering into the vehicle at him curiously, "I love you." She flushed, nodding, and smiling dazedly, before waving good-bye and shutting the door soundly. He seemed to reluctantly drive away, and she sighed, pushing her hair from her face and plopping down on the curb.

It always shocked Summer when Kyle said those words. A million things flooded her mind, a million questions, a million thoughts, a million emotions. Did he mean it? Did he really love her? Why did he love her? Why her of all people did he choose to love? Was she really so special? Her? Special? No.

After what seemed a long time, but couldn't of been more than a few minutes, Summer lifted herself up and dusted off her skirt. She began up the walkway, towards her house, then hesitated, licking her lips. She didn't want to go inside that house. Freddy had mentioned a record store, nearby. She scoured her memory, trying to figure out where it would be. She recalled a small shopping center, down the street a few blocks away, and could almost faintly recollect a small run-down record store inside of that plaza. She wrapped her arms around her body, beginning down the street in the direction of the center. It wasn't too late at night. It had fallen dark, the streetlights had come on, but she could clearly make out several high school aged teenagers. Some she recognized, as kids from her neighborhood, friends of her brothers. A heavy thud in her chest realized that she might run into her brother out there.

The plaza wasn't so far away, and it only took Summer about five minutes to reach it. She crossed the small parking lot, walking along the sidewalk and examining each store she passed. She paused, in front of the well lit shop. The large windows gave her ample view of the many rows of records, the front counter, the ancient cash register, and the bored looking pimple-faced teenager wearing an "Insane Clown Posse" t-shirt and sporting a purple hair-do. She rested her hand on the black door handle, with chipping paint and dirt, before swinging the door in and hesitantly walking forward. The store smelled musty, and there was music playing on low in the background, crackling from speakers propped up high in the corners of the store. She glanced around, and felt somewhat disappointed. Why? Was she looking for someone? A lump formed in her throat. Maybe a blonde drummer?

Summer made her way through the aisles, stopping in the Rock section, and flipping through the CDs. She didn't see any titles that caught her eye, but then, she wasn't really looking. She glanced around the store a few more times, awkwardly, then noticed the purple-haired teen behind the counter was watching her. She smiled somewhat, before looking back down at the CDs.

"Pop is three rows down," the boy stated, and her eyes shot up.

"Excuse me?"

"Pop," he repeated, "It's three rows down. I assume that's what you're looking for. Backstreet Boys, the Simpson sisters, Jojo, Jewel, Celine Dion? They won't be there, in that section. They're in pop, three rows down." Summer frowned, scrunching her nose and looking mortified. Her cheeks flushed. The few other people standing in the store looked curiously to her, and she felt her heart race madly, and that lump in her throat sink down to the pit of her stomach. She wanted to cry, but her stubborn personality wouldn't let her.

"I'm right where I want to be, thank you very much," she spat, letting the CDs she had propped up with her fingers slam back down against each other in a clatter of plastic cracking against plastic. The purple-haired boy shrugged.

"Whatever," he muttered, but his eyes remained on her, and she could feel their hot glare. She continued down the aisle, casually scanning the different titles they had displayed. She could feel everybody watching her, expecting her to suddenly cross over to the Pop section. Then they would smile, or smirk, she knew, and tell themselves they knew all along she was in the wrong aisle. Because she didn't look like she belonged there, browsing those rock titles. She paused, her finger straying on one CD. She scoffed.

"Jesse McCartney does not belong in the rock section," she mused, chuckling slightly. She was startled, when the purple-haired boy was at her shoulder, frowning down at the CDs emblazoned with 'Jesse McCartney' as well, then scooped up the stack.

"You're right," he confided, "These don't belong here." He crossed three rows down, shuffling through the Cds before tucking them securely into the rack.

"They don't belong there, either," Summer told him, and he met her eyes, amused.

"Oh, and where do they belong?"

"With lyrics like his…?" she smirked, before motioning towards the trash bin beside the counter. He grinned, laughing.

"You're right about that," he agreed, heading back towards the aisle where Summer stood and leaning against one of the racks, "What are you looking for?"

"I'm just looking," she admitted, but not for CDs, she silently accused herself, "You're a fan of ICP?"

"Huge. You?" he looked a little cynical of that idea.

"Not really, no. I never really got their style," she shrugged, flipping through a few CDs before landing on something. She lifted it, "Now Pink Floyd," she clutched the 'Dark Side of the Moon' CD in her fingers, holding it out for him to see, "I get." He shook his head.

"First of all," he said, in good humor, "You don't look like the type of person who would get ICP," she nodded her head in agreement to that, "And second of all, _Pink Floyd_! They completely suck. Their only good album was The Wall, and that wasn't even that great."

"Are you kidding me," Summer argued, "Dark Side of the Moon was their best album, and The Wall was simply put, _AWESOME_! You can stick ICP with Korn, Disturbed, and Linkin Park."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" the boy stammered, "ICP with _Linkin Park_? Take that back."

"Nope," Summer grinned, "Not until you admit that Pink Floyd is one of the greatest rock bands ever."

"I don't know why I'm wasting my time talking to a teeny-bopper like yourself," he rolled his eyes, heading back towards the cash register, "You're obviously a trendy, and rock must be in right now. Not that I'd know, I don't follow trends. What do you know about rock, anyways?" Summer could feel her heart twang with excitement, as though this were the SAT's she had spent her entire life studying for. She took a deep breath.

"Well…I know that Pink Floyd was originally started mid-1966, and received a great deal of success with their two singles and the release of their first album in 1967, The Piper At The Gates of Dawn. The band was founded by Syd Barrett, who was later replaced by David Gilmour in 1968 when his eccentric lifestyle and drug abuse became too much for the band to deal with. He later went on to a less-than-successful solo career and wasn't officially a part of the band when it amounted to rock hall of fame material in 1973 with the release of Dark Side of the Moon. How you can say Dark Side of the Moon is not their greatest work _ever_ is beyond me, seeing as how it holds the record for remaining on Billboard's Top 200 Albums list the longest, 723 weeks," the purple-haired boy paused, turning back to her in shock, but she took no notice, "All of the lyrics on Dark Side of the Moon were written by Roger Waters, who later left the band as well. I mean, he revolutionized it as a…in the words of Nick Mason, 'meditation on the causes of insanity'. I suppose that was back when real hardcore rock was more than just screaming in a microphone about how life sucks and people are all so fake.

"Also, it's the fourth best seller rock album of all time, right behind "Thriller", "The Saturday Night Fever" Soundtrack, and Fleetwood Macs "Rumors". Well, honestly, I can see Thriller, and Rumors outselling Dark Side of the Moon, but the Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack? Please! Ack, the 80's must have done that! But really, just admit it, ICP has nothing on Pink Floyd."

"Whoa," the boy murmured, leaning heavily against the rack and peering over it at her in awe. She looked rather smug. "Can you do that with any band, or are you just a Pink Floyd nut?"

"I know my rock," Summer shrugged, "Want to hear about AC/DC? Aerosmith? Fleetwood Mac? Maybe the Beatles, the Who? The Ramones? The classics are easy. I've got notes on all rock, from psychedelic, punk, heavy metal, emo…"

"But you're not a big fan of ICP?"

"No," she smiled, almost apologetically, "I just don't get them."

"If it weren't for that," he admitted, "And you're wannabe prep attire, I think I'd actually respect you." Summer blushed, pressing her lips together, folding her arms over her chest. She knew, for this purple-haired boy, that was the closest thing he could come to a compliment.

"I guess I can take it back, then. You're right, ICP does not belong with Linkin Park. But Limp Bizkit on the other hand…"

0-0-

Marta weaved her way through the crowd, leaving the girls; Michelle, Eleni, and Alicia behind to giggle and chat. She'd excused herself, saying she needed to use the restroom, but as she passed the dirty door with the 'woman' shaped symbol decaled at the top, she realized that was a lie. They'd been talking about a particularly cute young man seated at the bar. He was obviously in his early twenties, and in Marta's mind, way too old for her. She passed Zack, Frankie, Billy, Gordie and Katie sitting around a table laughing about something. Marco and Leonard were probably in the back, handling their equipment, or out on the dance floor. She didn't dwell long on it as she saw a recognizable form slip out the back door. She paused for a long moment, staring at that heavy metal door, EXIT glowing green above it, before taking a deep breath of the smoky alcohol atmosphere, and walked out the door as well.

The EXIT led to the side alley way. It was dirty, black pavement, there was a large green dumpster filled over to the side, and further down led to the backside parking lot, where Marta knew the band's van was at. She glanced around, shivering as a slight blast of cold hit her bare flesh, and wrapped her arms around herself. She stepped down into the alley, then paused as she heard a sound. There was a crash, and glass shattered. She jumped when a half-empty bottle rolled from behind the dumpster, and an all-too-familiar blonde stumbled out after it.

"Freddy?" Marta greeted, feeling a smile slide into place along her lips. He looked up, slightly confused, a little dazed, and his eyes fell on her. He wasn't smiling, and she felt her own lose hold. He looked back down at the bottle and her eyes trailed after. He picked it up, before she could examine it too closely, and rubbed the dirt off the mouth before taking a drink. He backed up to lean against the brick wall and frown Marta's direction.

"What's up, Blondie?" his words seemed firm, and that boosted Marta's confidence. At least, she thought, he wasn't drunk.

"Just wanted to see how you are," she replied carefully, taking a step towards him, "You disappeared for a while."

"How you could notice, scouting out guys like that," he mumbled distractedly, taking another sip of his drink. Her heart gave a quick skip. He'd seen her looking at other guys. Was he jealous?

"Eleni was 'scouting out guys'. Not me," she piped, hoping that would gain a smile of approval, or at least a glance her direction. He simply took another drink.

"Whatever," he muttered, "You'll get a boyfriend, or she will, or any of the others, and leave too."

"That's not true," Marta protested, then frowned.

Another chat about Summer. Was that all anybody in the band could think about? She balled her hands into tight fists, and felt a flash of hate in the, as things were going, soon-to-be-ex-manager's direction. She didn't want to talk about Summer with Freddy. This was a rare moment in time, that she had alone with the drummer, and she sure as hell was not going to spend it talking about another girl. Especially one that, Marta felt, had betrayed both of them so deeply. She was startled back when a crash resounded from the dumpster. Freddy had thrown his drink away. Feeling daring, suddenly, she came to lean next to him and their shoulders brushed. She felt lightheaded. She could smell him, from where she stood, and she turned her head his direction. He was taller, though not by much, and was staring off, at the wall across from them, his jaw set, his eyes narrowed.

"I hate that fucking bastard," he muttered.

"Summer?" Marta stammered, shocked that he would refer to her so obscenely

"No. Her boyfriend," he clarified, "I don't understand what she sees in that asshole."

"I don't know," Marta mumbled, it was a lie. She knew what Summer saw in Kyle. He was cute, charming, sweet, charismatic. He knew exactly what to say to a girl to make her feel special, and he never half-did anything. When he loved something, he went all out, with a passion. It was an admirable trait, in most girls' eyes, who were often faced with boys that had no idea what they wanted.

"I hope she's having the worst night of her life," he spat, "And then, I hope Kyle gets in a car wreck and…"

"Freddy, don't say things like that," Marta cried, "Summer's still our friend. And we still care about her…don't we?" He shrugged.

"I didn't say I wanted her to be in the car when it happened," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the ground. For a frightening moment, he realized, he hadn't said he didn't want her to be in the car either. "Tonight sucked. And it's only a glimpse of things to come…"

"You don't think Summer will stay with us, do you?" Marta surmised.

"I know she won't," he hissed, "How are we going to compete with that bastard? He gets good grades, he has that car, he's got that fucking record deal, and he always knows what to say to make her smile. Even when they fight, they're not fighting. It's just…sickening. The way he gets mad and she throws herself at his feet, begging him not to hate her. At least before he came along, when she got in fights with other people, she had a fucking backbone."

Marta was silent. She, like the rest of the band, had heard from Zack and Katie bits and pieces of what had happened that past Tuesday. But hearing it from Freddy was bothersome. She wondered how he felt knowing Kyle specifically asked Summer never to see him again. Not the entire band, just Freddy. It was understandable, after the Freddy and Greta ordeal, but still disconcerting. Summer and Freddy had been friends a long time, as had all of the band members. Kyle didn't understand their relationship. He didn't understand that Freddy wouldn't do anything with Summer, for fear it would jeopardize School of Rock entirely, which everyone knew, was extremely important to the drummer. But then, there was something in his voice, the way he spoke about Kyle. As though, it weren't the band that couldn't compete, but Freddy himself.

Freddy trailed off after awhile, muttering a few inaudible things under his breath and Marta leaned in closer to him, soaking up his body warmth and scent. Musky, slightly sweaty from the show, but there was an underlying sweetness, as well. A bittersweet.

"Don't think about it so much," she whispered softly, "Forget about it for the night." Finally, he glanced down at her, as though just realizing she was there.

"Yeah," he murmured, gaze falling to the pavement. He turned to face her, still leaning heavily against the brick wall.

"Tonight wasn't so bad," Marta went on quietly, nervous, "The party in there is really rocking. If you forget the music…the bad lighting…the smoke dampened room…"

"Yeah," he smirked, somewhat, at that. They both chuckled, lightly.

"I guess it could be better…but then it could be worse…"

"Hey," he mumbled as though readying to ask a question, and she paused, looking to him inquiringly. He moved quickly, leaning down and swiftly catching her lips with his own.

At first, Marta was startled, shocked, and almost pushed him away. But then, as her brain caught up with her heart, her eyes drooped, squeezing shut, and she brought her hands up to his shoulders, curling her fingers in the cloth of his sleeves. He brought his arm around her waist, drawing her forward, against his chest, and brought the other hand up to run through her hair and caress the back of her head, near the base of her neck. He was quick, skilled, parting their mouths, lacing her teeth with his tongue, and she was too stricken with her own lust and hormones, to even begin to realize what was happening. So she accepted it. Eagerly. She wasn't inexperienced, returning the rough maneuvers with those of her own, slipping her hands down to rest on his waist, to slide between the buttons of his shirt, to touch his flesh, pressing closer, moving her mouth, letting him take the lead, but choosing the dance.

Finally, Freddy broke away, leaving Marta breathless. He chewed his lower lip, feeling satisfied, and almost leaned in to continue where they'd left off, when he was jolted back. She was blonde. He stepped away, releasing his hold on her, his heart pounding, and all the blood drained from his face. Of course she's blonde, what did he expect? The answer to that questions was too much for him to handle. Marta met his eyes, obviously confused. She stepped forward and he pulled away. She looked hurt.

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling guilty, uncertain, afraid. What had he just done? "I…I'm drunk. I didn't…I'm really sorry." He turned, abruptly, taking off down the alley out of the parking lot.

"Freddy, wait!" he faintly heard her call after him, but disregarded it. He slowed down, once he hit the street, to an aching stroll pace, breathing heavily from the short sprint and the heat of his recent excursion. He wiped at his forehead, surprised to find it slightly damp. He had to get out of there. He thought of Marta, sickly. He really had to get out of there. Aimlessly, he began down the road, his mind rolling with aggressive thoughts, each one more horrifying than the next, and he let his feet do the walking.

0-0-

Katie leaned over the sink in the restroom, running a finger under her eye to smudge the freshly drawn-on dark black liner. She frowned, at how faded and smeared her make-up was. She could still hear the music, of the dance club, roaring outside the door, but it was slightly muffled, and barely perceptible in that dirty tiled room. She smiled, half-heartedly, at a decked out punk girl who grimaced her direction while heading back out to the party.

Which left Katie alone.

The mirror was cracked, and that broken line ran across the reflection of Katie's face, splintering her image in two. How befitting, she thought. Here I am, torn in two, and somehow, the mirror knows. Mirrors never do lie, I guess. She flicked her purse open, shoving her make-up back inside; the powder compact, the eyeliner, the lip gloss. It clattered in, sounding loud, reverberating against the tile into her ears. Never had she felt more alone.

Suddenly, Katie's legs couldn't hold her anymore. She stumbled to the corner, the far wall, before sliding to the ground and dragging her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms about them. She buried her nose in the crook of her elbow, between her leg, smelling the canvas of her jeans, the sweat from her performance, the smoke and alcohol of the party, the Rock that clung to her so comforting, familiar, and distinguished.

It took a lot of guts, and nerve, for Katie, to make that promise with Summer. _We'll still be friends_. Laughing out there, alone, with the guys, was what was comfortable for her. She'd always been just one of the guys. She very rarely got along with girls. They thought she was stuck-up, because she was so quiet. They thought she was a slut, because she got along so well with the boys. They thought she was stupid, because she never raised her hand in class. And what's worse, they thought she was a lesbian, because of her shy, almost tomboy personality, and lack of 'boy-craziness'. And never did the girls miss an opportunity to tease her for any of it.

Sure, Katie got along with the other girls in the band. Marta, Eleni, Michelle, Tomika, Alicia, all spoke to her, smiled, laughed with her sometimes. Because they knew she was none of those things. But no one had ever truly accepted her for all her faults and fallbacks like Summer had. She remembered standing alone, after one of the gigs, the boys leaving to some show-off endeavor of some kind or the other that she refused to participate in. The girls were all standing in one corner, watching the boys, laughing uproariously, and talking about what "James so-and-so" or "Nick what's-his-name" did in class the other day. It was the last time she remembered feeling so alone and left out.

Summer had approached her, passing a can of unopened soda over. _Boys are so stupid_, Summer had confided in a tone that suggested she found it endearing, and Katie had nodded agreement.

Why are you standing here alone, Summer had continued, and Katie had shrugged.

The guys all took off and the girls are chatting about…uh…girly stuff, Katie had explained.

I know what you mean, Summer had laughed, settling into a place next to Katie, _Why do girls feel the need to talk about guys, clothing, make-up, and all that junk all the time? I don't understand it. There are so many more important things to consider. _

I bet they don't even realize that they're just giving in to the male chauvinistic idea of what a woman should be, Katie had muttered angrily, then blushed furiously. Before that, she had kept her feminist ideals to herself. It only added fuel to the 'Katie is a lesbian' fire. She had no problem with homosexuality, it was just that, she wasn't. Why give them one more falsity to tease her over? And it really wasn't fair to the homosexuals out there.

, Summer had laughed, settling into a place next to Katie, Katie had muttered angrily, then blushed furiously. Before that, she had kept her feminist ideals to herself. It only added fuel to the 'Katie is a lesbian' fire. She had no problem with homosexuality, it was just that, she wasn't. Why give them one more falsity to tease her over? And it really wasn't fair to the homosexuals out there. 

But to Katie's surprise, Summer had eagerly exclaimed, _Tell me about it! And those magazines they read, CosmoGirl, YM, and all that…propagandist bull enforced by…who else? Men! The only magazine I've ever respected was Seventeen, it puts in all those articles that are important to women, talks about the issues, and keeps the fashion and make-up tips to a minimal. It encourages women to think about more than 'how to please their man'. _

And they use models that aren't the so-called 'perfect' body size and appearance, Katie had cried, and both had exchanged a look, knowing then and there that they had found a twin heart.

_You know, Katie,_ Summer had mused, _Us feminist need to stick together._

And from that moment on, they had.

Until now, as Katie sat alone on a grimy bathroom floor, with music pounding at the chipped white-paint door, and her misery spinning wildly around her head, and pounding ferociously in her chest. Summer won't choose Kyle, Summer won't choose Kyle, Summer won't choose Kyle, she chanted in her head, as though the repetition would make it true. But after the past two weeks events, something deep inside of her said, "but then, she probably will". And if not Kyle, then someone else. Because, she wants to leave. That harrowing thought wormed its way into Katie's brain, and a strangled sob escaped her throat, tingling down her spine and settling into her lungs. She curled up, around her knees, around herself and cried. She didn't notice the people that passed in and out, engulfing herself in darkness. She didn't even feel them there. Because Summer was leaving. And she was alone. She was so, truly, alone. When a soft hand touched her shoulder, she didn't notice it. It wasn't there. She wasn't there. She was in herself.

"Katie?" Alicia whispered softly, etched and quavering with concern, "Girl, what's wrong?" But the words didn't reach the bassist's ears, nor did the quick scuffle of feet as Alicia left in a hurry, nor the soft slam of the bathroom door, and it didn't register that the hand, that was never there anyways, had left her. She was in too dark a place.

It was a time later, the door opened again, carefully, tentatively. There was shuffling, as a figure, very aware of how little it belonged there, crossed over to Katie, and knelt to the ground. Another hand, that wasn't there, touched her shoulder. Then moved down her back, massaging it gently. This hand was different, warm, strong, and uncertain. It worked her forward, into equally strong arms, so that she was nestled against a soft and comforting chest. She buried her face, into the scent of sweat and smoke and alcohol and, oddly, peppermint. Arms encompassed her, holding her protectively, but awkwardly as well.

And Katie cried for as long as she could.

Then her sobs broke into soft sniffles, and heaved gasps. And as though waking from a trance, she was back, her head settled against the chest, her eyes closed. Her make-up was now, undoubtedly, a lost cause. She didn't need to look, to know who held her.

"Zack," she whispered, her voice a frog-like, sob induced, croak. He said nothing, just shifting slightly. "I…I can't…I want…" but her words wouldn't come. They didn't need to. He slipped an arm, under her legs, lifting her off the ground, the other arm supporting her back. She wrapped her own arms around his shoulders, finding that her head fit just perfectly in that space between his collar bone and neck.

Zack took her from the bathroom, where Alicia, Frankie and Leonard had taken up posts, to keep any unwanted intruders from entering. There was quite an uproar, as a few women were trying to get by. He nodded to them, as he exited, and they let the women pass, though now the aforementioned group was too intrigued and fixated on Zack, forgetting entirely how desperate they had been, only moments before, to get into the restroom. Alicia and the two security guards followed behind Zack, curiously. They kept a good distance away, enough to show that they were concerned, but not too much so as not to seem like they were pressing the matter. He paused, at the front entrance of the club, asking the front man for his and Katie's coats. The other band members slowly crept to his shoulder.

"What's wrong with her?" Michelle questioned, looking a bit worriedly to Katie, whom she assumed was sleeping from the bassist's silent manner, closed eyes, and steady breathing.

"I don't know," Zack admitted, "I'm taking her home." He passed his own keys over to the blonde, finding Katie's car keys in her coat pocket, "Drive the rest of the band home in my car, those who can't fit in the van. I can get it tomorrow."

"What do we tell Dewey?" Frankie asked.

"The truth," Zack shrugged, "He'll be concerned, but it's nothing to worry about."

"Do you want me to come?" Eleni suggested, "No offense, but she might need a girl to talk to…"

"No," Zack said firmly, as Leonard held the door open for him, and the band somewhat trailed out after, "It's cool," he assured them, "I'll take care of her. No offense taken, Eleni, but the truth is, she's more likely to open up to me than you."

The band said nothing. They knew he was right. It wasn't as though he were bragging. Most everyone was comfortable opening up with Zack, talking to him about their problems. Probably because he was such a good listener, or maybe because he had so many of his own, he couldn't exactly judge them on theirs. And even then, they all knew how close the bass player was to the lead guitarist, even if often times, he didn't seem to realize it himself.

They watched as Zack crossed the parking lot towards Katie's car, before shuffling back into the club. So much for enjoying the rest of the night, they thought glumly.

Zack regretted having to shift Katie so uncomfortably as he unlocked her car door and slid her in the backseat, lying backside down. Her eyes fluttered slightly, and she mumbled something. He thought he heard his name, but he wasn't certain. He crossed over towards the driver's seat, and paused, when he saw Tomika and Lawrence standing near Dewey's van, staring blankly at him.

"What's going on?" Tomika called.

"Katie doesn't feel so well," Zack explained hastily, "I'm taking her home." He ducked into the car, starting the engine up and buckling his seatbelt, before turning out of the parking lot. If his mind hadn't been so clouded with apprehension for Katie, he would have thought about how strange it was, that Tomika and Lawrence were sitting outside alone together. And what's more, he would have noticed, how they were holding hands and sitting intimately close. But he didn't notice those things. All that was on his mind, was his friend, lying in the backseat of the car.

Zack was a responsible driver. His father had made him take all the appropriate courses, and then some. And even then, he still had to drive around with a learner's permit for a year, and pass his father's own 'Driver's Test', before he could even get behind a wheel without an adult figure in the car. But now, as he glanced back at Katie, whose head was turned away from him, and he hoped was dozing peacefully, he felt his foot press a little harder on the gas pedal, and saw his speedometer exceed the recommended speed limit.

When Alicia had found Katie, bawling like a child, and completely shut down in the bathroom, she made a beeline for Zack. She passed other band members, even Dewey who was drinking at the bar with Miss Mullins, without even so much as a second glance. He didn't know why she had singled him out, of all people.

Katie needs you, those had been her words exactly. Not, "Katie's crying in the bathroom", or, "Katie needs someone." No. Specifically, "Katie needs _you_".

, those had been her words exactly. Not, "Katie's crying in the bathroom", or, "Katie needs someone." No. Specifically, "Katie needs ". 

And Zack didn't question it. He had simply followed Alicia to the women's restroom. She assured him it was empty, and it would be okay that he entered, but he still peered in for a moment, uncertainly and feeling very much like a pervert. At least, that was,until he saw Katie. By then, Alicia had retrieved Frankie and Leonard, telling Zack that he would have privacy. So he strode forward, letting the door shut quietly behind him.

Katie was one of the strongest people he knew. Or at least, she seemed that way, as she was the least expressionistic. To put it mildly, he had never seen her cry. Or show any emotion similar to sadness in any way. Stupidly, he had come to the conclusion she was incapable. But then, of course, she was capable. She was human, like any of them, prick her finger and she bled. It broke his heart, to see her so vulnerable, and it shattered all preconceptions he held of her. He'd thought he'd known her best, but then, watching her curled up on that dirty floor, crying, he realized he didn't know her at all. She'd always been a friend to him, and then, seeing her crying like that, she seemed only a child. But when he bent, to place his hand on her shoulder, he saw her so closely. He saw her skin, a clear complexion, naturally tan. He saw where her hair line began, on her forehead, where the dark black sprouted out and spilled down her back. He saw the line that was her neck, bent forward, running up to meet the base of her head, and falling down along her back. Which was where his hand fell, as well. And suddenly, she was a woman. And never had the urge to protect someone been so strong in him.

And then, Katie was braced against Zack's chest. Crying. Her fingers tangled in the folds of his shirt, his hands wrapped around her back. She always seemed so hard, so rigid, so rough. He was surprised to find how soft and warm and feminine she really was. And then he could feel her. He could really feel her. All the sadness, all the sorrow, all the pain, washed into his body, into his head. And then, she was like porcelain. Frail, brittle, as though, if he held her too tightly, she would shatter into a million pieces. And he could feel the sobs, wracking her spine, and convulsing her chest. And he held her, but not like a friend. Almost as though they were connected, as though he were a part of her. As though he was comforting himself, rather than a separate being. It was all too much, all too weird, all too wrong. He wanted to hold her for as long as she would let him, he needed to get her out of his arms before he figured out what that feeling was in the pit of his stomach. And then the sobs died, and she spoke his name, and she didn't need to speak anymore. He'd surpassed simply knowing her, to understanding her.

The streetlights seemed to blaze down, almost accusingly, at the car. Zack tried to focus on the road, but everything was getting so blurry. He saw the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, and swerved just in time, out of its path. They honked their horn, angrily, furiously at him, and the driver shouted something out the window. And then they blew past, and he didn't care anyways. He took into account how shaken up he was, and how madly his heart was pounding, and the near-miss, before deciding it was probably best if he got off the road and took a moment to figure out what was bothering him. So he pulled over, parking parallel behind a trashed junker of a car, and killed the engine. He held the keys, loosely, in his hands, laying them against his thigh, and he leaned back, sighing heavily.

Katie stirred slightly. She'd been jostled around, when Zack had dodged the oncoming car, but she seemed relaxed. He smirked. Of course she was. That was how she drove. Recklessly. It was natural for her, to be in an automobile moving erratically, sharply, and quickly. He laid his forehead against the steering wheel, suddenly wanting to cry himself. Suddenly overcome with weariness. He startled, when he felt something touch his shoulder. He was surprised to find Katie, lying on her back, head turned towards him, eyes open slightly, fingers brushing his back.

"Hey, Posh," he whispered, hoping to lighten what he felt was an extremely tense atmosphere, "How you feeling?" Her hand dropped, to lie on the carpeted floor of the car. She looked down. "That bad, huh?"

"You always going to take care of me?" she asked softly. It was meant to be almost joking, but her tone was too serious, her voice hoarse from crying so hard for so long. Her want for him to always take care of her showed through her, what would have been, sarcastic comment.

"Yeah. Sure," he smirked, shrugging, "Whenever you need me to."

"Then, I feel fine," she told him, pulling herself up into a sitting position and looking drowsily out the windows, "This isn't my house." She didn't sound as though she wanted it to be, more like she was simply stating a fact.

"I know," Zack mumbled, then searching for an excuse and taking the least lamest one he could come up with, "Um…you're car is hard to drive…" She smiled lightly at him, before, clumsily, climbing into the passenger seat. They sat in long, drawn out silence.

"Thanks," she said, her voice low, unsteady, "For taking care of me…for getting me out of there…I just couldn't deal with it."

"It's no problem," he assured her, "I don't mind." Another silence. "It was Summer, huh?"

"Hm…?"

"Katie," Zack sighed, "I…you have to…we can't…" he took a deep breath, "It hurts, a lot, I know. I thought we were all so close, I thought we were all friends…no, I thought we were all a family. I guess I should have told her that, when I called her, but then…"

"Huh? When did you call her?" Katie interrupted.

"Before the show," he answered, "That's how I found out about it. She mentioned it, before hanging up. She's just…her thoughts…everything…you were right about her going through some serious shit, Katie. But it's not what you think. You know, she doesn't even think we're her real friends." He clamped his mouth shut, realizing he probably shouldn't have said that, as a contortion of pain crossed Katie's otherwise serene face. She took a few composing breaths, resting a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry," he quickly apologized.

"No, it wasn't you," Katie murmured, speaking as though there were a great lump blocking her throat, "Tell me what else she said."

"I don't know if you want to hear."

"I do. I just said I did, didn't I?"

"Alright," Zack whispered, "I don't know if _I _want you to hear." Before she could protest, he turned the key in the ignition and started the engine up again, pulling away from the curb and back onto the road. He'd made up his mind, and Katie knew better than to argue with it.

"Zack," she started instead, "Do you remember when you first realized, we were all friends, and not just a band?" He glanced at her, a little confused.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well," Katie shifted slightly, settling back into the seat, and buckling her seatbelt distractedly, "For instance, when did it become clear that we were sticking together for more than just the music? I mean, even, like, Frankie and Marco, and Eleni, and all of them. We're not kids anymore, they must have realized that their 'jobs' are the kind that most anyone can do. When did it become clear, that, even for them, they could never be replaced?

"I guess I never thought about it," Zack replied.

"Well, I was," she mumbled, "That's what I was thinking about in the bathroom," her voice grew slightly unsteady, but she continued, and Zack listened intently, "I was thinking about when I first realized me and Summer were more than band mates, that we were friends. Maybe even best friends. I just wondered, maybe she hasn't realized it yet. But how could she not? Was it all fake? All the times she laughed and smiled and joked around with us? I know that I was really her friend…but was she really mine?"

"Katie," Zack took a deep breath, "I don't know. Just, don't think about it too much."

"But what if she's right?" Katie demanded, "What if when this is all over, we can't be friends with her anymore, for whatever reason we find. If she leaves the band, will we still want to spend time with her, hang out with her, be friends? Will we even care about her anymore?"

"She asked me on the phone if I liked her," Zack interjected and Katie was taken aback.

"What?" she gaped, heart thudding madly in her chest at the implications of that statement.

"If I liked her," Zack clarified, "If I liked the person she was and if I really thought that I could get along with her, you know, without the band. I've just been thinking about it. And you know, I do like her. I mean, maybe I wouldn't have, if it weren't for the band, but that's because I wouldn't have taken the time to get to know her. But if she leaves, it won't be like the band never formed, I'll still know her. I'll still know that even if she's obsessed with getting good grades, and following the rules, she knows how to break them when it's necessary and how to let loose. I'll still know that her favorite color is blue, and that she hated those little hats you girls had to wear in the primary grades, and that her favorite movie is Dumbo, even though it always makes her cry in the end. Maybe I should've told her _that _on the phone."

"Maybe," Katie sat up straight, "Maybe we should remind her, or help her realize, we are her friends."

"Katie…I don't know…"

"Come on, Zack. We have to do something," Katie pleaded, "I don't even care, anymore, if she stays our manager or not. I just don't want to lose my friend." For a moment, Zack was completely silent, as he pulled up in front of Katie's house and put the car in park. He turned to look at her, and finally nodded.

"Yeah," he conceded, "I don't want to lose a friend, either. But what'll we do? Talk to her? Tried it, failed miserably. She hung up on me."

"I just wish I knew where all this doubt in our friendship was coming from," Katie sighed, slumping back into the seat. She glanced out at her home, and frowned. "Let's go get ice cream," she suggested, not really wanting to turn in for the night.

"But…what?" Zack shrugged, "Okay. It's your night, I guess."

"But I'm driving," Katie told him, opening the door and crossing over to the driver's seat, "You are _way _too slow," she told him. He sighed, pulling himself out of the car and making his way to the passenger side. As he buckled in, she tore down the road and he found himself gripping the dashboard and door handle for support.

* * *

END A/N: A little...uh...Katie/Zack interaction, and a look at how Katie and Summer became friends. Oh, and the Marta/Freddy thing...I don't really like the two of them together, because I really don't see it, and I like Freddy and Summer together (I'm stubborn that way). I pick out my pairings, and there's nothing you can do to convince me otherwise! But Marta kind of served a purpose...sort of...I feel badly for her...maybe I should hook her up with someone...hm...who would everyone like to see Marta with (NOT Freddy, obviously...)? Give me ideas, here.

And then, the music thing. I have nothing against Linkin Park, I just don't like them. I thought they were cool when they first came out, this whole techno/punk/rock/alternative mix thing they had going on...but now, all their songs sound the same. ICP, Disturbed, Korn and Limp Bizkit, are all bands I listen to, but I really wouldn't buy their CDs, well, except mayber Limp Bizkit. So if you want to bitch at me about how Summer was, kind of, putting them down slightly (she had respect for them, she just didn't get their style), well, your complaints will fall on deaf ears. Keep in mind, these are the characters opinions...not mine. Sort of. A little of me gets in there, I suppose (with the Linkin Park thing) and also, Jesse McCartney. I apologize if you like him (though I can't see why). I hate him. His song, "Beautiful Soul", or whatever, makes me want to blow my brains out. And his lyrics do suck, that's the first thing I noticed when I first heard his song. He's just singing the same thing every other pop artist seems to sing about a girl. Jeez. And you're probably all wondering, "What the fuck is with all the Pink Floyd references?" I was listening to Pink Floyd's The Wall when I wrote these past chapters. I promise, no more!

Oh, and one more thing: Next chapter is going to involve a little trivia contest between two characters, and I need a few rock band names. Just throw them out there, I'm tired of using the same one's over and over again, but my brain is mush when it comes to rock band names. I've heard all their songs, I grew up listening to all the great classic bands, but I just can't put band names to songs, and all that crap. I'm working on it. If there's one thing School of Rock did for me, it was reignite my passion for classic rock music.

That should be it. Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. I would _love_ a **_REVIEW_**! Drop me a line, I want to hear from you.

Thanks for reading!


	9. Fighting Never Solves Anything

A/N: Okay, this took it's time getting up, as I had to finish a part of it...

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

Swimmerkitti: I'm all aboutcharacter developement. Thanks for the praise, and the band suggestions. Bon Jovi is great, but I couldn't use Creed. No offense, but they suck in my opinion and I would never waste any time in my story referencing them. But as they are a popular band, I couldn't give them a bad reference either.

sweetcaroline: I know that you like Freddy/Marta pairings, so I'm glad you understand. I'm taking into consideration either a Marco/Marta pairing, or a Marta/Leonard pairing...but I'm not sure. We'll see how the story goes. It's all about where the characters take me.

Nanners-77: Oh yeah! The pope died! Oh...um...I'm sorry...it's very sad...big loss and what not. Hey, I'm still upset John Lennon died, alright...and what with my cat passing, I have very little room for any more grieving! (I apologize thoroughly for my offensive nature, I have no morals...) I like writing the Zack/Katie stuff, but I felt bad about the Marta/Freddy thing...because she was kind of used, and you'll see how in this chapter. I hope you had a better day, too!

Parcie05: I would say, Summer/Freddy is the one I'm most stubborn about. I will read other various parirings, but not if it puts the two of them with anyone besides eachother. Which probably seems a little unfair, but hey, I'm a bitch. Little can be done about that. And Katie/Freddy. Forget about it. Doesn't work in my mind. Marta with Marco, that seems to be the general consensus. We'll just have to see where the characters take us, romantic wise. And Summer finding out Freddy kissed Marta...like I said, we'll just have to see where the characters take me. You're favorite story out of all the one's you've read...wow, I'm really flattered. Thank you.

closetwriter: I'm glad you loved the Katie/Zack stuff. Fighting...I don't know...hm...read on and find out, I guess.

wyverna: You know what's funny. Leonard was my original romance picking for Marta, but then I didn't know. I really didn't care, I just felt bad about what I'd be doing to her in this story. You've never heard of Insane Clown Posse? Hm...I guess they're not huge...Limp Bizkit doesn't all sound the same! They're fun. I like to sing along...hehe...they're my bad addiction. But Papa Roach, I can agree. And they overplay their songs, too, on the radio. God, give me classic rock...at least them I can stand listening to over and over again. I can listen to the classics all day. But you really can't bust Linkin Park for the compilation with Jay-Z, because even Aerosmith did a hip-hop crossover a few times, and can you really claim that Aerosmith (one of the all-time greatest rock bands) is a sell out? And thanks for the band names, they came in handy. I love this story, because I get to research, and I'm realizing which bands sang which songs, and I'm recalling a lot of really great bands too. It gives me something to talk about with my dad, as well. He's huge on the rock thing, as well. He's what got me into to begin with, and then the movie got me re-into it. Hehehe...why couldn't you ask if his son was cute? I would have! I don't mind, I'm a bitch too. You should be on AIM, imagine what I'd say. "So...wyverna, what's goin' on?" "I don't know, SD, what's goin' on with you?" "Nothing much." "..." "..." HA! I don't feel good.

IndesElfwine: You're welcome. If you need any recommendations for great Summer/Freddy fics, I know of a lot.

Alex: It makes me so happy to know you loved the chapter, and the whole part where she pulled out all that crap about Pink Floyd (which was fun to write), but...yeah...no. I didn't know all of that, I researched it, and found a totally awesome fansite with Discography and everything. Which was cool. I'm not a huge Pink Floyd nut, either. I love them, but all the band stuff you see, most (if not all of it) was researched. Yeah, Jesse McCartney sucks. As does Linkin Park. But Jay-Z is kind of cool...j/k. HA! If you're talking about things that make me violent (or just want to blow my brains out...) well, there you go...hip-hop and R&B, hugely high on that list. And don't get me started on rap. You didn't like Marta? I thought she was cute, I really don't get the Freddy/Marta pairing, though. Eh, to each their own, I suppose. Thanks for the review!

i am not a chipmunk: I know the pain. This site is so bad with losing reviews and data and whatnot. It's so annoying. You just got to learn, save and save often. Computer nerds learn it early. Yeah, and more Austin coming up, actually. And he's not so much evil, as really screwed up, and he has his reasons. I don't know if I'll go into them, though.

Okay, that wraps that up.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 9: Fighting Never Solves Anything 

Dad's house. Would have been an understandable place to end up. Mom's house, even. Liquor store. Seemed about right, fit the mood. Friend's house. Most of them, outside the band, had booze. So it seemed about right as well. Freddy could have ended up anywhere. Anywhere but that dark house, on that small cul-de-sac, in that upper middle-class area.

This is what happens, Freddy realized, when he let his feet do the walking. He didn't want to be here, did he? He didn't want to be standing on Summer's doorstep, tracing his finger over the doorbell. Did he? He leaned against the door, staring out at the street, glowing from the streetlights. The blue house across from Summer's was alight, and there was a car parked in front. The bitch in the blue house. He scowled, shoving his hands in his pockets, and trying to figure out what he was doing.

Summer. No. Ugh…why was he thinking of her? Wasn't he mad at her? Yes. He was furious with her. She was being a bitch. Understandably, he wasn't being that sweet a guy either. No. He was right, she was wrong. She wanted to leave the band, she was putting everyone through hell, she was pushing everyone away, she was treating everyone like crap, she was…she was…dating that bastard. He straightened, grimacing as the back of his head slammed against the door with a thickening crack.

"Ow," he mouthed, bringing his hand up to touch the injured area. He smirked, somewhat. How many people would get a kick out of him, Freddy Jones, standing on a girl's, but not just any girl's, the class factotum's doorstep late at night. The class factotum, the pure little good girl, the sweet innocent girlfriend of Kyle Emerson; school heart throb, basketball star, and Mr. Goody-two-shoes himself, the prep poster boy.

Freddy smiled slightly. He liked standing on Summer's doorstep. It filled him with a sense that she would be coming down those stairs, coming to open the door, smiling brightly at him, greeting him whole-heartedly, leaning forward to…

Now what was he thinking? No. No. Think of anyone…no, think of the biggest tramp you've ever been with, Freddy commanded himself. Think of the worst, dirtiest, nastiest, slut you've ever woken up next to. And remember, those are the girls you date, those are the girls you want, those are the girls that want you.

Can you see her?

Freddy nodded, sub-consciously, causing the motion detector porch light to flicker on. He could see a little redheaded number, leather mini skirt, dark blue halter, belly button ring, tattoo of a falcon on her lower back, knee high go-go boots. If he recalled correctly, those freckles of hers were dabbled over her entire body. Did she have a name? She hadn't given one.

Sickness washed over Freddy, as bits and pieces of his night with that redhead flooded back to him. Yes. Those were the type of girls who wanted him. The kind that forgot his name or never knew it in the first place. The kind that liked him, as soon as they saw his face. The kind that loved him, after they saw his wallet. The kind he couldn't stand when he was sober.

The kind that were already so bad, he couldn't possibly screw them up any worse.

So there was no reason, Freddy decided, for him to be standing on that doorstep. He began down the street again, thinking of other places he could go.

Back to the club? No. He couldn't face Marta, not after what he'd done. Not after he'd treated her like another one of those girls, when she so obviously wasn't one. Not after he pushed himself on her. Not after she allowed him to do so. Not after she hadn't pushed him away. Not after he evidently took advantage of her.

Not after he'd pretended she was Summer.

The band would have left by the time Freddy returned there anyways. Marta would tell them he'd taken off. He wondered if they'd worry.

Home? Where the fuck was that, he mused. Certainly not that hulking Jones' Estate.

Dewey's apartment? Good option. But then, no. Dewey would be taking the band members home. Freddy would be stuck on the doorstep, waiting for Dewey to return, which may or may not ever happen that night. Or worse. He'd be stuck with Ned, who Freddy didn't dislike; he just wasn't comfortable with the more mature and, rather, wishy-washy older man.

Liquor store? Still seemed to fit the situation. Freddy paused a moment, to stare at the yellow lines in the middle of the street. They were blurry, swaying, and he realized, he wasn't exactly walking a straight path. With a slight dismay, he decided he was drunk enough for that night. The morning hangover was already promising to be a serious bitch with the, to Freddy's anguish, now forming severe headache and nausea.

Let the feet decide? Freddy began to walk again. No. He couldn't do that. He saw what happened when he left the decisions up to his feet. He ended up on doorsteps of girls he wasn't so certain he didn't want, who most definitely would never want him, and that he was furious with.

Zack's house? Zack wouldn't be home until later, lived on the other side of town, and Mr. Mooneyham hated Freddy with a passion.

Any of the other band member's houses? Zack was the only one Freddy would ever allow to have to put up with him when he was drunk or hung over. It could be blamed on a "best friend thing", but Freddy just felt more comfortable in that situation with Zack, then anyone else. Maybe because the lead guitarist knew him best, had seen him at his worst, and, what with being his best friend, was obligated to never think less of him.

And suddenly, Freddy was somewhere. It was as though he had headed there on purpose, and in his mind, it completely clicked, 'why hadn't he thought of it before', as he swung open the glass door with the OPEN sign hanging on the handle, and walked in completely natural. It was getting a little late, and a few teenagers were hanging out in the aisles, rifling through CDs and records. He headed straight for the Rock section, his section, only to be brought to a complete halt when he saw the purple-haired worker, that he recognized as Greg, chatting animatedly with a dark haired young woman. Greg trailed off from the chatter, noticing Freddy.

"Hey, hey…it's you. Come here, man, this girl is amazing. She probably knows more about rock than you," he called, and the girl turned, a smile neatly in place, until she met Freddy's eyes. She looked down, immediately, and her smile slipped, "This guy's a regular costumer, and he's a real rocker, he's almost like a Rock guru," Greg went on. Freddy stood facing the young woman, and she had turned a slight pink, "Go ahead, man, ask her anything…"

"I should really…" she mumbled, starting forward, but finding that Freddy stood in her path and wasn't budging, as he crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes at her.

"No, wait, I want to see how '_amazing' _you really are," he sneered, and she peered up at him, "The band Rush, who was the original drummer that Neil Peart replaced?" A challenge. There was no way she could pass up a challenge, Freddy knew, as soon as he saw that glint in her eye.

"John Rutsey. When did he replace him?" she shot back.

"In 1974. What is Bon Jovi's best selling single?" he returned.

"That would be 'Always'. How long was it in the US top ten?"

"Six months. Which album did Motorhead release in 1984?" Freddy stepped forward, his arms dropping to his sides.

"'No Remorse'. What was track six on the album?" her lip curled into a smirk.

"'Killed by Death'. Sheesh, at least challenge me. Which member of Black Sabbath left the band to join Jethro Tull?"

"Tony Iommi in 1968. Who did he replace in Jethro Tull?"

"Mick Abrahams. Who were the original founding four of the Ramones?"

"Johnny, Joey, Tommy, and Dee Dee. Along with them, which other member was inducted into the Rock hall of fame?"

"Marky, on drums. Flock of Seagulls, when did…"

"No way," she groaned, looking utterly disgusted, "They were a one hit wonder band. And what's worse, they were formed in the eighties!"

"What's wrong with rock bands formed in the eighties?" he demanded.

"They were…_formed in the eighties_! Enough said. I mean, come on, name one good rock band from the eighties, and if you say Men At Work, I am confiscating your drumsticks for _two weeks_!" she cried, staring up impudently at him.

For a moment, Greg seemed to be in a trance, looking between the two, trying to figure out which he should be in more awe of. But now, his brow drew together, and he looked in confusion between the blonde drummer and petite young woman. Something seemed a little off about the way they were looking at one another, and how naturally that threat had escaped her lips.

Freddy shifted slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, and leering down at the young woman, back rigid and obviously amused. "What are you doing here, Summer?" And Greg put two and two together, and his face dropped.

"Hanging out. _You_?" she answered haughtily.

"Shopping."

"How was your show?"

"Wonderful," Freddy spat, "_Yours_?"

"Superb," Summer seethed.

"Really. Then where is bastard?" Freddy questioned. Summer's mouth parted slightly, but no sound came out. He felt particularly smug, "If the show was so '_superb'_, why did you call it a night so early? Face it, Summer. That bastard has nothing on School of Rock. But don't worry, we did fine without you. And we'll do fine without you, when you ditch us. We hardly even missed…"

"If the show was so '_wonderful'_, Freddy Jones, why did _you _call it a night so early?" Summer interjected, her eyes flashing with unmistakable rage, as well as mortification, as she stormed past him out the door. Freddy shook his head, glancing miserably after Summer, then looking to Greg, who was staring almost shocked and appalled at him. Everyone else in the record shop had stopped as well, and were blatantly staring.

"What?" Freddy hissed, as though daring anyone to say something, scowling at them, before looking back out the window into the empty night.

0-0-

Summer walked briskly, marched more like it, down the road. It had gotten considerably colder, and now her breath puffed into the air in wisps of fog. She tightened her arms around herself, staring hard at the gray cement passing beneath her feet, and trying to sort out her spinning head. She was angry, that was for certain. But mostly at herself. She chewed her lower lip. Why had she gone to that record store? You were looking for him. Freddy Jones. She swallowed hard, her hair falling about her face in itching strands. But why? So he could hurt you more. Evidently, you're a glutton for punishment.

Maybe to apologize. It seemed so crazy, Summer thought, it just might be true. She sniffed, lightly, running her fingers through her hair, the chill causing her eyes to water and her nose to run. What do you have to be sorry for? He was the one in the wrong! Awful words had been exchanged, Summer reasoned, I said a lot of things I didn't mean. I might've hurt him. Ha. That's a laugh. _You_, hurt the, great, invincible, insensitive, impassive Freddy Jones?

The wind smacked Summer's bare legs violently, and they prickled with icy chills. Wrapping her arms tighter about herself, she felt the awnings of heartache, and what's worse, pity. Freddy wasn't void of feelings, she told herself. But deep inside, she wondered if it were true. He acted so cool, so calm, so composed. It seemed the only emotions he really had were anger and apathy. But the other day, that Tuesday, when she'd said all those things, something had passed across his face. She couldn't even remember what she'd said, but she knew it had been horrible. And wrong. It was almost as though watching him break right in front of her eyes. And all that was left was undirected rage.

By the time Summer had noticed Kyle that day, she was in tears. At the time, she had thought it was because of Kyle she was crying. She thought she was scared, worried that he would end things, and hate her. But now, she realized, she had been crying before he arrived. She realized that she had been crying because of Freddy. No. Not because of. For. But why? Shouldn't she have hated Freddy? After the things he'd said, the questions he'd shoved down her throat, to receive pained answers for his satisfaction? But she hadn't. She'd felt a strong urge, a want to go to him, to…No. She would not think those types of thoughts. She had Kyle. Kyle was sweet. Kyle was loving, tender, caring, always told her exactly how he felt about her, never strove to anger her, always talked things out. They'd never had a fight, though it was early in the relationship. The first time she really met Freddy, not just was acquainted with his presence, but actually spoke with him, she recalled, they'd gotten in a fight. And while she couldn't remember what it was about, she faintly remembered slapping him, and then they gave one another the silent treatment for a week. Which was particularly detrimental to both of them and extremely difficult to do, as they were grouped together for a class project with two others. It was the first time, in Summer's life, that she had felt true fear of flunking an assignment.

Oddly enough, she found herself smiling at the recollection. Their two group members had gotten fed up of, "Will you please tell Freddy…" or, "Will you ask Summer…", that they'd dumped the remainder of the project on the seeming two archrivals, which, ultimately, forced them to work together. Summer had taken over, of course, as she refused to fail even the most menial of assignments. Certainly, Freddy had fought her, at first, but her straightforwardness had won out over his stubborn rebelliousness in the end. Anything to shut you up, he'd said. But when that assignment was over, which they'd gotten an 'A' on, neither spoke another word to the other. That is, until Dewey came along and School of Rock was formed.

For a moment, Summer's thoughts dwindled on that kiss, in Dewey's apartment. It wasn't a real kiss, she decided. The way Freddy held her in his arms, it wasn't her he was holding. They had seemed so stiff, so uncertain, so awkward. The passion had felt real enough, how his lips moved against hers, his taste on her tongue, his smell dizzying her head, his touch against her skin, his breath soft in her ears. Him, filling her senses. But it wasn't real, she told herself. So don't waste your time thinking about it.

The amusement park had been real. The way Freddy had drawn me into his arms, Summer mused, even as I had fought him to the end. He must have really wanted to hold me. His grip had been tight, firm, and rough. No. Maybe it was his stubbornness. Maybe he felt he was being suave, maybe he…she shook her head. Who cares what he thought? It's what you thought. And you thought of Kyle while you were in his arms. Did you not? Well? Didn't you? She furrowed her brow, shaking her head so that her hair flailed loosely about her face, and chewing her lower lip. Maybe I didn't think about anything at all.

What a lie.

Too consumed by her thoughts, or trying not to think her thoughts, Summer didn't realize until it was too late, the figure that had come up behind her. She felt a jolt, as she was dragged to a sudden halt, a strong, alien hand wrapped about her forearm. She spun her head, hair bellowing in her face, looking in shock at the young man who tightly held her place. He had dark hair, darker eyes, a deep-set tan, and a grisly goatee. He had that almost thuggish look, as though trying to appear more dangerous than he actually was. She easily recognized him, but couldn't put a name to the face. Maybe she didn't know his name, maybe she'd just seen him around. He went to the local high school, the one she was zoned for.

"Hey, it is Punky," he lisped surreptitiously, grinning maniacally, and pulling her closer towards him. His hand fell to her waist, and slipped up her blouse to trail his fingers along her warm, soft belly. The sudden cold of his touch shook her from her shock, and she squirmed against him, struggling to break free of his hold.

"Let me go," she cried firmly, seeing more figures, his friends, descend upon them from the darkness. Her heart leapt to her throat. How had she been so stupid? She'd read about these kinds of things. Girls walking down the street, alone, in the dark of night, usually upset and completely oblivious to their surroundings. They wouldn't be far from home, when they would get grabbed, or jumped, by a group of hormone raged boys or perverted older men.

"I thought it was you," the boy continued, pulling her closer, bracing her against his body to give him more lever and control. He'd caught her arms, holding them twisted behind her, and walked her into a light pole, where her back pressed against the cold metal. He came to her ear, whispering against her neck, "You've grown cute. Still getting straight A's, Punky?"

"Please, just let me go," Summer pleaded, feeling weak as her voice broke into a quaver. She didn't want this boy to know how scared she was, but she couldn't help it.

"Don't be frightened," he clucked, his pelvis biting into her hip, and she could smell his stale, musky scent. It overwhelmed her. She heard one of his friends laughing, behind him, and squeezed her eyes shut as he brushed his lips along her jaw line, to her cheek, not quite touching a kiss to her skin, but his breath pervading her flesh. He clamped her wrists together with one hand, up above her head, using the pole for support, and slipped his other hand down to fiddle with the buttons of her blouse, his pinky rubbing against her breast every so often.

"Please, don't," she begged, though trying to sound as though she were giving a command. She had no control over the situation, and his friends all joined in the laughter this time, enjoying his sadistic public display of her humiliation.

"Don't what? I'm just having a little fun," he laughed, glancing over his shoulder at his friends for encouragement. He evidently received it, in jibes and more chuckles, as he returned to her, slipping his hand up her shirt, and pushing himself bruising-ly against her body. She tried to curl up, feeling vulnerable in the position he held her in, pinching her eyes ever more shut, and whimpering ever so slightly. She panicked, not knowing what to do. Only one thing, or person, stood out in her mind in that moment.

"Freddy…" she cried out, though her voice was muffled by the pressure against her chest.

"Let her go," a less than amused voice said behind the boy, and for a faint moment, Summer was thankful. Until she recognized the voice. The boy pulled back reluctantly, though he still gripped her wrist. She wasn't moving, scowling at the other boy standing amidst the group, a girl clutched at his side. She looked bored.

"What's up, Austin? I'm just having fun. Why didn't you tell me your baby sister got boobs?" the boy laughed, and the others chuckled, though somewhat nervously around them.

"Oh come on, she hardly has anything," Austin snorted, "She's flatter than a piece of wood."

"You're supposed to say that, she's your sister," the boy rolled his eyes. Austin smirked.

"Yeah, I guess you're right on that one," he replied, before turning his gaze on Summer, an evil glint in his eye, "Shouldn't you be out on your little date?"

"That's none of your business," Summer stammered in response, tears threatening to fall. She felt helpless. She'd never minded, before, being the center of attention. But in front of this group of kids that had tortured her for the greater half of her life she felt small and outcast. And more importantly, alone.

"Aw…did pretty boy decide you weren't good enough for him? Did he see a girl with more up front, maybe blonde…with nice legs?" Austin taunted, and the group laughed. Summer recognized Jeff amongst them. There were others she knew as well. She finally found the name, for the boy who had been molesting her mere moments before. Jim, Austin's best friend since third grade. He'd pinned her against walls then, too.

"No," Summer pouted, as the group laughed again.

"Punky had a date?" Jeff mocked, "Who would want to date her?"

"Nobody, obviously," Austin answered, "Notice how she's not on her date? I thought you told mom you were going to be out late…"

"I did not," Summer hissed.

"What's the matter? Get cold feet? Or did pretty boy see you naked and…"

"Shut up, Austin," Summer cried, flustered, and aghast. How could he say that? She ripped her wrist from Jim's hold, as it had loosened considerably. She began down the street, but Austin was on her, grabbing her arm.

"Where are you going, _Punky_? We aren't done with you?" he spat, pulling her back towards the crowd. She looked to him, meeting his eyes with fear, anger, frustration, and sorrow. Why was he doing this? To impress his friends? "Honestly, did the date go well? Was he a real gentlemen?" he words were biting, and he had narrowed his eyes at her, smiling despite the agony he saw in his sister, perhaps even because of it, "Now am I right? Did he bail when he came to his senses and realized what a troll he was out with, or was five minutes all it took?"

Summer couldn't control her impulse, as her hand struck Austin across the cheek. The laughter from his group died. She looked stunned at her hand, as though it wasn't hers, as though it wasn't apart of her body, as though it were a monster. Then dared a glance towards her brother.

"I didn't…mean…" she stuttered. A darkness had fallen over his expression, and he lashed out. She fell back from the force alone, her legs buckling beneath her. A form brushed by her, and she regained enough focus to see her brother fall back as a fist struck him hard on the jaw. The newcomer had raised another fist, readying to strike again, and grabbing the still stunned Austin by the collar.

"Freddy, stop!" Summer cried, rushing forward to latch onto the drummer's arm, in an attempt to halt the falling fist, though she was lightheaded and weak and she ended up clinging to it rather for fear of falling to the ground, "Freddy…please…don't…" his jaw was set firm, and he was scowling down at Austin, considering his options. He glanced at Summer, staring with pleading eyes, obviously frightened. His brow furrowed, and he growled softly, before shoving Austin away and letting Summer lead him from the crowd, hands tugging his shirt. Finally, he wrapped an arm about her waist, offering support to the dizzy young woman, who leaned in to him and rested her head against his shoulder.

Summer left Freddy outside, standing beside the green power box. She returned to him, first aid kit in hand, and slipped up in a sitting position on the metal thing, buzzing with electricity. She opened the plastic white box, and he sniffed, flickering a guilty look to the bruise quickly forming on her lower left cheek and chin.

"Who'd I punch?" he asked. The words sounded harsh in what had been a tranquil silence. She pursed her lips, taking his hand. One of the knuckles had split, probably connecting with a tooth, and was swollen, oozing blood. The rest of the knuckles were a light purplish. She used a piece of gauze to dab a little anti-septic on the wound, and he drew his breath in with a great hiss of pain from the stinging.

"My brother," she answered solemnly. Freddy's eyes went wide.

"That was your fucking _brother_? Shit, Summer…"

"Don't use words like that," she whispered, as she cleaned the blood up, "And don't look at me like that. I don't need you to pity me, now. You don't know anything about it."

"Summer, you're brother hit you…"

"He's always been violent with me. That's how siblings are, I suppose," she cut him off, "But that's the first time he's ever struck me. It was because I slapped him…he…he…had his reasons."

"You've slapped me plenty of times, Summer, and I'd never hit you. And _I'm _not your brother!"

"Exactly," Summer seethed, meeting his eyes with a meaningful look. He took the hint, and let it drop. She chewed on her lower lip slightly, "How did you know I was in trouble?"

"I was following you," he answered casually, wincing as she applied pressure to his injury.

"You were _what_?" she demanded, shooting a bewildered look up at him.

"Ow…Summer…not so hard…the hand, the hand…" Freddy moaned, and she shook her head, releasing him. He took a deep breath, looking to her, equally bewildered, "What? Did you want me to let you walk home alone in the dark? No way. I am not giving you the satisfaction of yelling at me for that when you turn up dead in the gutter the next morning."

"Oh," she mumbled, she hadn't really thought of it that way. She took his hand again, and found the roll of bandage in the white plastic box next to her. Pressing gauze soaked in iodine on the wound, she carefully wound the bandage around his hand. Those first aid classes your mother made you take to bulk up your college resume are really coming in handy, she thought as she licked her lips, and knew she wouldn't be able to sleep that night if she didn't ask the question hovering in her mind as she replayed that horrendous event, "Why didn't you help when…when that other boy…" She couldn't bring herself to say it. Took advantage? Molested? What could she say without making herself sound pathetic?

"Oh man," Freddy muttered. Evidently her feelings from that moment in time had jumped back into her voice, as he easily read that it wasn't a pretty ordeal, "I'm sorry. I must not have been there. What did he do?"

"It's nothing," she whispered, trying to appear reassuring. But her hands were trembling as she tied off the bandage. Freddy caught them, with his own, holding them still. She noticed his other hand. While the cut had healed considerably, a mess of band-aids still adorned it. She frowned, "You really need to be more careful with your hands," she commented.

"Why?" he scoffed, "I'm a boy. We get scrapes and shit all over the place, from all the roughhousing we do. Do you like a guy to have soft, girlish hands?"

"No," she stammered, "You're a drummer, remember? You're hands are kind of…needed, to play your instrument. If you mess them up, what will you hold your drumsticks with? Your feet? What did you do to this one, anyways? Punch out another girl's brother who was being rough with her?"

"No, I only do _that _for you," Freddy said softly, he'd meant it to be teasing but she felt her cheeks flush with color anyways, "I was trying to clean up broken glass. Turns out I'm not very good at cleaning. I have a newfound respect for my house maid…what's her name."

"Why was there broken glass?"

"I threw a vase."

"Why?" Summer met his eyes, confused, and concerned. He flustered. Maybe he shouldn't have told her the truth, he realized. But now he couldn't lie to her. Not when she was looking at him like that.

"Because it was in the Jones Estate, and it wasn't broken," Freddy muttered beneath his breath, then looking down, to their clasped hands. They were partially intertwined, as though half-way through tangling them one or the other had gotten shy, "Because I was mad. Don't worry, though, my psychiatrist says that I'm getting better at expressing my rage."

"How's that?" Summer snorted.

"I didn't burn anything," he shrugged. She smiled, laughing softly, meekly, and he glanced sheepishly to her, letting go of her hands. They fell to her lap, as though lost and purposeless without his to hold. She met his eyes, and he stepped forward, his feet moving without his consent, though he really wouldn't have argued with them. Why did he feel this comfortable around her? The reminder of the broken vase, and why he'd broken it, washed him with pain. He wanted to be held. But not just by anyone. He wanted those thin, pale, delicate arms about him. He wanted to smell her scent, to be encompassed by her small frame, to feel her hold him, and he thought that perhaps, somehow, he could feel safe and loved in those arms.

"Be honest," Summer whispered, "How did the gig really go?" He bent, pressing the palm of his hand against the warm vibrating metal, his thumb flush against her thigh. Her gaze drifted to it, examining it, as though trying to discern if it belonged there. She pressed her lips together, all of sudden shy, then puckered them out, absently running a tongue over the bottom pout.

"It sucked," he admitted quietly, his words airy, little more than puffs of breath, "Now _you _be honest. How did the show really go?" She looked to him, her eyes drifting shut as he drew near her.

"It sucked," she whispered, warm air against his lips. He smiled, close enough that he could feel every breath she took from her mouth against his own. Her heart was pounding, but she wasn't pulling away, even as a part of her knew that she should, and nagging-ly pointed it out. He knew what he wanted. No, what he needed, and he wasn't backing down. He wanted and needed those lips…

Honk! Honk! Honk! Headlights filled the street, and the blaring car horn caused Freddy to jump and straighten, and both teens to turn away from each other flustered, hearts pounding. The car pulled into the Fuller driveway, and Mrs. Fuller exited the vehicle, looking to them, and waving ecstatically.

"Summer? Summer, is that you? What are you doing out so late? And who's that with you?" Mrs. Fuller called, and while she put on a good show of sounding friendly and concerned, there was an unmistakable hint in her voice that she was simply being nosy. Two other figures crawled from the backseat, and Summer easily identified them as Allison and Rachel.

"Summer? Is that your friend from the amusement park," Allison called, sickeningly sweet, "Let's go say 'hi', Rachel." She latched onto the redhead's arm, practically dragging her across the street, "We'll be right back, mom."

"Of course, dear, don't be long," Mrs. Fuller waved, "Say 'hello' to your mother for me, Summer, though I'm sure I'll see her at the Neighborhood Watch meeting this Sunday." She turned on her heel, hurrying up to her house, and Summer dared a look to Freddy. Her heart was racing. Was she imagining things, or had they been mere millimeters from kissing moments ago? And was he red in the cheeks? Freddy Jones did not blush. It must be the dark, Summer assured herself, you're seeing things, and you're delusional. But why do I feel so feverish? And disappointed?

"Hi. We weren't properly introduced the other day, and I feel totally rude because of it. I'm Allison," the buxomest brunette smiled, sticking her hand out for Freddy to shake. He looked at it as though it were a puzzle he couldn't piece together, then in disbelief at her. And finally, disregarding the two girls altogether, he turned back to Summer.

"Will you be okay?" he asked, a bit uncertainly, "I mean, will your brother…"

"Austin won't do anything," Summer murmured, feeling her lips curl up at the corners, lightly teasing, "Are you worried about me?" He fidgeted, looking flustered to the ground. She lowered her eyes, saying softly, "I'll be fine."

"Then, I guess…I'll see you tomorrow," he told her, then smirking, "Tinkerbell."

Summer couldn't fight the broad smile that slipped across her face at the nickname. It was his way of saying, she supposed, that they were back on good terms. Who knew how long that would last.

"Later, Spaz," she returned, and watched his retreating form as he strode out of the cul-de-sac towards the bus stop. Then she glanced at Allison and Rachel, who watched the blonde's back longingly. Allison spun suddenly, to glare at Summer, and it was a tribute to her pure snootiness, how she could be looking downwards and still appear to have her nose sticking up in the air.

"Tell me about him," it wasn't a request. Summer made a face.

"What? Are kidding? Why would I tell you about him? Or anyone I know for that matter?" she cried, appalled by this girl, who had long been her tormentor. She was suddenly overwhelmed with anger. Allison was just like all those other girls fawning over Freddy. Wanting him for his good looks and pretty face. They didn't know him, they didn't know what he was like, they didn't know what made him laugh, or what made him angry. At least, Summer knew those things, and that, for once, put her ahead of little Miss Fuller.

Summer was shaken when Allison took a seat next to her, strapping an arm over her shoulders. Rachel looked surprised as well, but it was quickly replaced with angry envy, as her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"I know you and I have had our differences," Allison began, "But I think we can overlook them…"

"So you can get your claws in another boy I like?" Summer spat, then lifting herself up and ripping out of Allison's grip, "He's not interested, anyways. He flirts with anything female that moves, and…well…he didn't even give you a second glance."

"You…you…" Allison stammered, and Summer practically skipped up the walk towards her house. She turned, smiled mock pleasant, and waved, before swinging open her front door and disappearing into the house. As soon as the door was shut, she realized something. She referred to Freddy as a "boy she liked". She leaned heavily against the wooden frame, folding her arms over her stomach and sighing deeply. That's not what I meant, she thought. Was it?

0-0-

Freddy leaned back on the freshly polished floor of Horace Green's gym, loathing his P.E. uniform. It was better than the school uniform, he supposed. At least he got to wear a t-shirt, instead of the button-down collar deal, and shorts instead of those hidious plaid trousers. And he got to wear sneakers, though the gym coach wasn't incredibly encouraging of his Vans and Etnies, as opposed to the Nikes and Air Jordans all the other boys wore. He watched the other boys running their laps and doing stretches, waiting for the coach to come down. He shared this class with Zack, Leonard, and Lawrence; who were all still busy changing in the locker room. Katie, Tomika, and Alicia had girls' P.E. the same period, and both classes were in the gym that day, but the girls had yet to descend from the locker room.

Kyle and a few other boys on the basketball team also had that class, as well. And they were standing, huddled, to one side of the gym. Kyle sent a look Freddy's way, and the drummer felt unease growing in the pit of his stomach. It was confirmed, as the boy, head of the basketball player pack, strutted towards him. They came to a halt in front of the lounging, and he stared up at them cheekily.

"What do you want, bastard?" he asked cheerfully. There was shuffling, and suddenly Freddy felt very vulnerable sitting on the ground. Trying to appear calm and composed, he lifted himself up as coolly as he could muster with those towering boys gathered around him threateningly. And with his usual rebellious scowl, he met Kyle's eyes. Though, Kyle was a few inches taller, Freddy still managed to look intimidating in his own right.

"You to stay away from Summer," was the smooth answer. Freddy quirked an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest, and looking about the room in a bemused way, before his eyes settled one more on Kyle.

"Are you fucking crazy? Didn't you have this chat with Summer? She said 'no', dude, remember?" he hissed.

"I know. But I'm not asking her. I'm telling _you_. Stay away from my girlfriend…and band manager," Kyle retorted, a sneer on his lip. Freddy winced, and he hated how sick that statement made him feel. His muscles tensed, pulling taut along his back and arms.

"What?" he barely managed to choke out.

"Didn't she tell you? She's agreed to be the manager of my band," an almost sadistic grin darkened Kyle's elegant features. Freddy felt an ache in his chest. He narrowed his eyes at Kyle.

"That's a lie," he said flatly. It sounded flimsy, hanging empty in the air.

"Is it?" Kyle replied, beginning a circle around the stiff blonde, as though a vulture preparing to swoop on its dying prey. All he had to wait for, was that killing blow, "There was no doubt, that she would chose my band over your childish…group. It was time for her to move to greater opportunities." Freddy flinched, finding a shiny spot on the floor to glower at lest he make a fatal move that could lead to expulsion, "Does that bother you?" Kyle mocked, "You know," he mused, "I don't think it bothers you quite so much that she's the manager of my band," he stopped, at Freddy's shoulder, his words falling into the drummer's ear, abrasive and taunting, "As the fact that she's my girlfriend." He began pacing again, walking back to stand in front of Freddy, his hands clasped behind his neck, "I'll tell you the major bonus of her managing my band now. She gets away from you. Don't get me wrong, I don't think she'd fall in love with you, or anything…but I know how you work. You'd find her at a weak moment, and take advantage of that.

"You really are a spoiled brat. I've seen the way you've been looking at her lately, and after that Tuesday," Kyle snarled, "You can't stand anyone having anything you don't. But you'll never have Summer," he smirked, seeing how the blonde flinched against this statement, "I guess, so you don't lie awake at night wondering…I could tell you," he turned, pacing, "She's a great kisser," He turned, looking Freddy square in the eye, "But to be honest, she could have a better body and be a little less of a prude. Making out isn't quite so fun when there's so little to grab and she won't let me go through with it anyways. Yet. something tells me she'll be a little more willing once I get her away from…"

A flash of anger blinded Freddy for a moment, and before he knew what he had done, his fist connected heavily against hard bone and soft flesh. He stared amazed at Kyle, whose head was turned to one side, his lip bloodied, and eyes wide from the shock. By then, the girls were starting out of the locker room, and Zack, Leonard, and Lawrence had hit the gym floor, and stared wide-eyed at what they'd just witnessed. But Freddy's anger hadn't subsided, and where any other would be left satisfied with the obviously painful strike, he lunged out, grabbing Kyle by the collar and sinking his other fist in the other boy's stomach. At that moment, Kyle had come to his senses, and was somewhat able to block the second attack. He groaned, softly, trying to push the angry drummer from him. All he managed was a backhanded smack to Freddy's chin, and then Zack was there, pulling Freddy back, and Katie was quickly stepping in the middle.

"What is going on?" she demanded, looking bewildered between the two boys. Freddy was growling, pulling at Zack's grasp, trying to get at Kyle, who was clutching his lip and chin, while one of his friends offered support.

"He struck me for no reason," Kyle sputtered, seeing the coaches coming from their offices towards the gym and the great commotion. Everyone around them had stopped and were watching with piqued interests.

Freddy flushed, realizing the utter scrutiny he was suddenly under. He couldn't tell them the real reason he'd gotten fired up, so he searched for an alternative excuse, and the first words that tumbled from his mouth were, "That bastard says that Summer's going to manage his band!" It took only a few silent minutes for his words to sink in, before all hell broke loose amongst the School of Rock members. Zack still held tightly to Freddy, who still looked ready to lunge though he wasn't moving, and the others began shouting obscenities and eccentric rants.

"That's a lie! That's a goddamned lie!" Alicia was shouting at Kyle, a Chesire cat grin on his face, particularly pleased with himself.

"She was our manager first," Lawrence stated, confused and dazed.

"You mean she's leaving the band?" Leonard questioned, hurt and quiet.

"Now, we just need to take a moment to straighten this out," Tomika was trying to cry over everyone else, trying to regain composure in the group.

"You are so full of shit," Zack was yelling, and as curse words were hardly his thing, it was especially harsh coming from his mouth, "You smug bastard. You fucking smug bastard. You don't even know what you've done…"

"I don't believe you," Katie was whimpering, "I don't believe it. Summer wouldn't…would she? She wouldn't leave us…would she? I won't believe you…"

"Why don't you all just get over it, already?" Kyle hissed, his words inaudible to anyone else outside of the group, "She's moved on to bigger…_better_ things." A new rage coursed through Freddy, and he tore from Zack's grip, landing a square punch in Kyle's face and pinning him to the ground with his knees, readying another assault before the coach descended upon them, ripping Freddy off the other boy and dragging him to his feet.

"All of you," the coach roared, glowering out at the members of School of Rock, "Principle's office. _NOW!_"

* * *

END A/N: Yay! The fight scene everyone was waiting for, anyone dissapointed? And another almost-kiss scene.

Eightees rock bands...okay, eightees was not a great time for rock bands. But there were some good ones, and that's all I'm leaving it at. I don't want complaints about that statement she made, she has issues about the eightees, I don't. I love the eightees, actually. I was born in the eightees. I lived partially in the eightees. I had an eightees hair-do. Eightees greatly influenced my life. I love the eightees. (I watched every I Love the Eightees episode on MTV). If you don't love the eightees. Oh well, your problem, not mine.

Oh, and a funny thing about Men At Work. I had recently (after writing this chapter) discovered their CD in my dad's collection. I was so stoked! I just had to play it. Oh man, it was great. My dad came home and it was blasting, and he looked at me funny, and I had the biggest grin on my face!

ANYWAYS, please **_REVIEW_**. And please excuse any grammatical and typing errors.

I can't wait until Friday, for the Kim Possible 'So the Drama Movie'...god, that sounds so lame...but their advertising a possible Kim/Ron romance, and if they do not deliver, I will be so dissapointed and there will be hell to pay!

But...uh, thanks for reading, and this rocker is out (my guitar instructor taught me Smoke on the Water...so cool...I suck at it though...)!


	10. She's Leaving

A/N: It's here...it's here...chapter 10...

To the reviewers, a huge THANKS:

IndesElfwine: I really like your s/n, I should mention. Not much Zack/Katie here, next chapter, I promise. And I'm glad you like the Freddy/Summer.

wyverna: Yeah, Aerosmith rock too much to be sell-outs. Now, as a feminist, I have a lot of love and respect for Gwen Stefani. She's made it in a usually male dominated world (genre), as a great singer/songwriter, and she has a style all her own. But, as a rock and music lover, I would have to say, she is a total sell-out. The first two No Doubt albums, 'Tragic Kingdom' and 'Return of Saturn'were great, they were totally rockin' and whatnot. Rock Steady, however, don't get me started on that piece of crap. The song 'Hey Baby'...positively annoying. And then it started to end up...you know...what are the band members there for. Obviously, she realized they were kind of without a purpose now, and she's taken an almost R&B route with her solo album (which I'm not saying is a bad album, I personally like it, but it's got sell-out written all over it). And you don't seem anti-social to me. I know anti-social. I am anti-social. Or I was. I feel slightly better now. I just can't kick this cough...and my nose is a little snuffly.

Nanners-77: I'm glad you liked the fight scenes. And yes, Summer's brother is a prick. Stupid Austin. Hey...I knew a kid named Austin once. He was a prick too. He made me cry once, the damn bully. And then he ordered pizza from my store and I got to tell him that we were out of the dough he wanted and no, he couldn't have a discount because of it. I felt so powerful. I've gotten mixed reactions on the Record Store scene. I personally didn't like it too much, but, you know, if one person liked it, it was worth writing. "...and Kyle. Grah! If I knew him, I would so kick his ass too..." HAHAHA! Getting a little too into the story, now, aren't we...ha!

sweetcaroline: Yup. Two fight scenes. I really suck at writing fight scenes, which may be the reason they were so...abrupt(?). Girl bandaging guy up, leading to make-out, or simply sexual tension, seeems to be a popular theme in my stories. It's just so tender, though, where the girl is all caring for the guy and (somewhat) nursing him back to health. Just kill him off! You know...I haven't thought about what happens to Kyle in the end...hm...I won't kill him off though! Maybe not...or maybe...huh...I don't know. Christopher was a basketball player? Hm...must go back and read over story...I wonder if Summer did leave the band or not...we'll just have to read the chapter to find out. And you better update your story soon! Don't give me empty promises..!

vaguelyspecific: I like using so many rock bands. I've mentioned before how much fun the research is for me. A lot of people underuse the power at their fingertips (internet). Anyways, it's cool that you couldn't review the last chapter...though you could go back and do that...if you wanted to...you know...just saying..."Can't hardly wait..." wasn't that a movie?

i am not a chipmunk: Your review cracked me up, every time I read it, too. Me laughing is a big thing, I might add. I'm surprised you like Austin so much, what with not only being an antagonist in the story, but also being an OC (which don't usually get much love...unsung heroes of the fanfic world, I should say!). Austin and Kyle gay...hm...I am wondering what to do with Kyle in the end...ha! J/k. I think...anyways. Freddy the superhero? Super Freddy! Here he comes to save the day! Kid in your gym class?Is this kid cute? On the Kevin Clark level?

Rosa: Keep going? Okay. I will. Since you told me to.

Alex: Wow, such a volatile and exhuberant reaction! My favorite kind. Now, I can't answer your questions. I'll feign ignorance, and simply say, "I don't know what'll happen next...hehe..." You're on holiday? What for? I wish I was on holiday. I wished for a Red Bull the other day, and my general manager went and got me one. See, wishes do come true.

closetwriter: Yes! The fight! I loved writing the fight scene, though they are hard for me to write. I just wanted Freddy to get in a fight with someone. And hey, emotions are a hard thing to figure out. Doesn't matter how smart the person is, denial keeps them in blissful ignorance...no matter how detrimental it is to the people around them. Did any of that make sense? Better late than never, I always say (especially when it's me late...)

PhishFood: Alright, take the happiest you have ever been in your life and times that by three, and that's how happy I was when I saw your review. Now, take that happiness and times it by ten, and that's how happy I was when I saw you decided to FINISH YOUR STORY! Catching your review, I looked back over the review I had written for your story, and I thought, I did not praise this story enough. I forgot to mention the godliness it was next to, and (since this story was taken down once and the first A/N mentioning your story went with it) I didn't get the chance to say that waiting for your story to (it seemed at the time) never be finished was like going through withdrawal of crack cocaine. Now, I've never gone through withdrawal of any drug of any sort (as I've never done drugs...and...yes...that's the li...I mean...thing...you'd better believe it!), but I'm pretty damn certain that the feeling I had from your story was damn near close. And, it's surprising you love my story so much, because your story inspired me to write this one! And I did kind of steal your characterization of Freddy ever so slightly, because I loved it so much. And Summer somewhat too is similar to yours. And, when I went back to look at your story (which if you're going to continue with it, I have to read it again, not that I probably wouldn't have read it over and over and over and over again anyways...) I realized that your original character (Summer's boyfriend) was named Austin, much like my OC (Summer's brother) is named Austin. I wonder if that's where I got the name from...because I honestly have no idea. The name just popped onto the screen...And yes, I do love all those pairings. And you know...my stories have done a lot of things for people, given them addictions they couldn't control, moved them to tears, moved them to laughter, given them joy, and undying love for me(which is weird, I might add...but flattering!), but never has one of my stories ever moved someone to an offering of best friend-shipness. The record store scene was not really one of my favorites, but it was useful for getting a character point across in regards to Summer, but I won't go into that, as this reply is getting huge (but you deserve it, because you ROCK so much). OKAY, on a final note, I hope that you continue Should I soon! And you better not be getting my hopes up with this empty dream...IT BETTER BE CONTINUED...because if not...I...I...I'll cry! And you don't want to be responsible for making me cry, do you? Well? _Do you_? I didn't think so. Thank you so much for your awesome review. It's like being given a compliment by a celebrity! My hero, even! Ah...I'm all dreamy eyed right now...it's kind of ironic, that your story inspired me to write this story, and my story inspired you to finish your story.

radianceX: The important thing is, you're here. And you're so nice too, with all your praise. I, myself, think my story needs some work. I have stated before, but it doesn't hurt to state it again, LOVE Summer/Freddy. I am so in love with it, I can't read any story with the two of them paired with anyone else. That's how IN LOVE with S/F I am. And Zack/Katie, I am ashamed to say, in the beginning, I had written it as a...well...it was convenient. But now that I'm working on it, writing it, developing their romance and their characters, I'm starting to fall madly in love with their pairing as well. I hope this chapter meets to your satisfaction, and doesn't dissapoint.

Alright, everybody...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 10: She's Leaving 

Dewey was sitting, or what appeared, napping on the couch, his red and black Gibson neatly balanced in his lap, his fingers grasping the neck loosely. His other arm draped over the head, plucking lazily at the first and second strings, playing random licks. Ned had taken his group of rocker eight-year-olds on a field trip to the Music Store per Dewey's suggestion. They were getting fairly good at strumming the chords, but they weren't really _feeling_ the rock. He glanced up out through his shaggy brown locks when his front door swung open, and one-by-one the School of Rock kids solemnly paced in. By then, they had all heard the distressing news that Kyle had relinquished to Freddy that afternoon. As well, Dewey had received a call from Miss Mullins about a few of his band mates, most particularly a Freddy Jones, participating in a fight during gym class with another boy. But looking at the blonde drummer, it would be hard to tell. Save for a barely noticeable scratch on his chin that could have come from anywhere, the boy hardly retained any injury.

It was odd for the entire group to shuffle in for an afternoon band practice, but there they all stood. Their faces were so crestfallen, Dewey could hear his heart break. But he had to be tough, he told himself. They couldn't go around getting in fights with other kids, even if the kid was probably a punk and Dewey was certain initiated the whole thing, though he didn't know who the kid was seeing as how Miss Mullins never revealed that information. And they most definitely could not go around disrupting class, even if class was a perpetration of The Man, and therefore, by disrupting it, they were directly doing as Rock, and Dewey, told them, by sticking it to The Man. The disheartened kids found seats, or somewhere to stand, and, noticeably, the participants in the scuffle that afternoon; Zack, Lawrence, Leonard, Freddy, Tomika, Alicia, and Katie, made an effort not to look in Dewey's general direction.

"What happened guys?" Dewey questioned, though his rough tone suggested he already knew. He was on his feet in a flash, his guitar hanging by its strap about his neck, "What is wrong with you guys? Starting _fights_? Freddy," the boy made no indication that he was listening, furrowing his brow and tightening the screws on his drum set's hi-hat, "_Freddy_! Pay attention! I thought we went over this. What is wrong with you, man? Attacking this kid? Do you always think with your fists? Is that head on your shoulders just a pretty ornament? You screw around a lot, but how could you screw up…" Everybody jumped when a clatter came from the far wall as twin drumsticks slammed to the plaster, and banged onto the floor.

"You're not my dad," Freddy growled, standing tensely by his drum kit, finger extended to point dangerously at Dewey, his eyes alight with fire, boring into the older man's, "So don't even bother fucking lecturing me!"

"Look, Freddy, man, I didn't mean to sound that way," Dewey soothed apologetically, holding his hands up defensively in front of himself. Moments before he'd had every intention of screaming his head off at the kids, but the intensity in the drummer's eyes was a bit frightening, "Just chill out, dude. My dad could really ream on me, too. I know it sucks being lectured. But you guys…" he shook his head, hands falling to his sides, "You guys really did a bad thing this afternoon, and being the adult in this band, I can't let that slide. So come on," he put out his hands, wiggling the fingers, "Tell me the damage. How bad is the punishment?" Silence, shuffling.

"We just got warnings, because technically we weren't fighting," Zack spoke up.

"But Freddy has after school detention for four months, including Saturdays," Katie finished.

"After school detention? _Saturday_ detention?" Dewey roared, "What? This is really going to affect our practices! And our gigs are usually on _Saturdays_!"

"It could have been worse," Tomika reasoned, and Dewey perked an eyebrow, obviously interested in knowing what could be worse than that, "If Miss Mullins hadn't pulled a few strings, Freddy could have been facing suspension…or even, expulsion." Dewey didn't appear to see how that was worse.

"What does it matter anyways?" Freddy muttered, "The band is over. We lost. Forget making musical fusion, School of Rock is ended."

"What's that supposed to mean? You guys...look...I still don't understand what this fight was about," Dewey sighed, shaking his head, "Come on, guys. What does this little campus spat have to do with the band ending? Why are you talking like that? What is going on? Now somebody better give me the details, and I mean now…" The door opened again, and everyone turned their heads in surprise. Everyone was there, weren't they? Who could it be?

The little figure moved quickly, strutting across the room, and a crack of hand slapping cheek resounded throughout the stunned band members' ears. Summer glared up at Freddy, her lips pursed, one hand on hip, the other poised from the hit. His head snapped back, and he returned her glower with one of his own, eyes wide with anger.

"What the…" he began, but Summer quickly cut him off.

"How could you start a fight with Kyle?" she demanded, "How could you punch him! At school, nonetheless! Do you have an expulsion wish? I know you don't get along with him, Freddy, but…this? How…"

"How could _you _leave the band without telling us?" Katie broke in and Summer faltered, looking completely flabbergasted.

"I…what? I…didn't…" Summer stammered, looking around the room in confusion at the angry stares her direction.

"You told Kyle that you would manage his band," Zack pressed, crossing his arms over his chest, and Summer's face contorted with a few unreadable emotions, "He told us this afternoon. I guess it saved you the trouble."

"How could you betray us like this?" Marta demanded, and like a wave, they all began in on her, yelling various things that couldn't be separated from the others. Their words sounding more like buzzing than anything else. Summer backed away, shaking her head, confused by their sudden anger.

"I…I didn't…"

"We don't need you anyways," Frankie spat, "We'll find a new manager."

"You had us thinking you would at least tell us first what you decided!" Alicia screamed, "But we had to find out from that sleaze ball boyfriend of yours!"

"He's not a sleaze ball," Summer stammered weakly, she wasn't sounding entirely convinced herself.

For the third time that afternoon, the door opened again. And Kyle, with the other Barber Boys, stood in the door frame. His chin and nose had turned nasty shades of purplish blue, and his nose had swollen. There was a piece of tape over it, and he looked rather disgruntled and out-of-sorts in the small, run-down apartment.

"What the fuck are _you _doing here?" Freddy demanded, starting forward. Zack outstretched an arm to hold the blonde back.

"I'm here for Summer," Kyle sneered, dragging the young woman gently towards him by the arm, whispering to her, "Are you done here?" She pulled away, backing from him, and then looking towards School of Rock, unsure.

"Kyle…did you…did you…tell them…that I was managing your band?" Summer stipulated, shaking with obvious rage, looking to him subordinately. He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, and shrugging.

"I thought after that talk with your mom…"

"You had no right," Summer seethed, "I hadn't made any decisions yet. You had no right."

"Then make the decision now," Zack spoke up, as though it were the most reasonable thing in the world. The band members crossed their arms over their chests, murmurs of 'yeah' broke out.

"I…can't…" Summer mumbled, looking aghast.

"Summer, I think you _should _decide now," Kyle joined in, his voice a low growl, "This is getting out of hand." Summer took a deep, shaky breath, looking between the two groups. She closed her eyes, opened them again and turned to School of Rock.

"_You _say you don't need me," she stated, then looking to Kyle, "And _you _lied to my friends. To be honest, neither of you have very good cases on your side as to why I should choose any of you," her conversation with her mother came forward in her mind, and she bit her lower lip, "I don't know," she whimpered, "I can't decide like this…" she shook her head, her breath catching in her throat as she started towards the door.

"Then perhaps I have a solution," Dewey announced, his booming voice bringing Summer to a halt, as all the occupants of the room looked curiously to the older man. For a moment, they had forgotten he was even there. He had taken a stance, beside the counter, and was tapping the hard wood, strumming his fingers atop a small stack of papers.

"Who are you?" Kyle questioned, looking at Dewey as if he were something that had crawled out from under a rock.

"Dewey Finn," the stout rocker introduced, running his hands over his portly stomach, and smiling with pursed lips, "Now zip it up, AJ, I got the floor now!" A few of the School of Rock members snickered under their breath, others seemed to wonder who AJ was, and those that knew, worried that Dewey had just referenced a Backstreet Boy, which would mean he knew the names of boy band members, which was a very disturbing fact. Kyle looked taken aback, and opened his mouth, as though he were about to say something, but a stern glance from Summer silenced him.

"What's your solution, Dewey?" she asked quietly, in desperate need of an answer.

"We duel," he announced, and Freddy grinned.

"Cool," he exclaimed, "You're condoning a fight? I got dibs on bastard!"

"You already had your dibs," Dewey snapped, and then in a high-pitched, mock voice, "And no, I'm not condoning a fight. At least, not in the sense you're thinking. I'm thinking more of a battle…on a field where the men are separated from The Man," he lifted the paper laying beneath his hands, emblazoned with an advertisement, "Battle of the Bands."

"Mr. S, what are you saying?" Gordie inquired, straightening his glasses.

"_Dudes_, I'm saying," Dewey cried, exasperated, "That if everyone agrees, we battle it out for Summer on stage! Music will be our weapon of choice. I'm saying, New Kid On the Block, you and your little friends enter against School of Rock in the Junior Battle of the Bands, and whoever wins gets Summer." He pushed the hair from his eyes with a hand, and puffed out his chest, extremely proud of himself. The others stared blankly. He sighed, easily picking up on the fact the others weren't so keen on his plan, "Look, Summer is obviously not going to decide. And we can't keep going like this without an answer. We can't exactly tear each other apart, but it looks like that's what you guys are going to do. We have to settle this, once and for all. So, let's hear it…who's in?"

The kids all shuffled slightly.

"This is stupid," Kyle snarled, "Like I'd perform in some stupid kid show, anyways. You're going to choose us, right Summer?"

"What, are you scared?" Freddy taunted, "That you'll lose?"

"We can beat you any day," Kyle spat, stepping forward as menacingly as he could muster with his battered appearance.

"Then enter the competition, bastard."

"But, Dewey…they don't play instruments," Zack argued, looking to his mentor with a shake of his head, "They can't enter Battle of the Bands, they're not really a band." Kyle opened his mouth to protest, but was cut off.

"Summer," Dewey looked expectantly at the petite young woman. She was white in the face, her eyes slightly wide, and her cheeks splotched pink. She seemed caught off guard at hearing her name, but it only lasted a moment. She cleared her throat, pushing her hair behind her shoulders.

"Well…actually, the rules aren't very clear in that area. They don't state specifically that the members of the band have to play their own instruments, rather, they just have to provide their own, original, music," she stammered. There were a few whispers around the room.

"Well?" Dewey prodded, looking to his group, and then the other.

"I reiterate, this is stupid," Kyle sneered, "There's no doubt that we'll win, so it'll be a waste of time…"

"If you're so confident, then enter," Zack reasoned. Kyle sputtered, his lips moving, though no sound came from his mouth.

"Well…I…it's a waste of my time," he protested, "Summer's going to choose us, anyways, so…"

"Then it's a win-win situation for you, right dude?" Zack interjected, "Unless you really are scared we'll beat you."

"In your dreams," Kyle seethed, leering down at the mild-mannered guitarist, "We're in, right guys?" His friends gave less than exuberant nods of their heads, "And we'll win."

"Great," Dewey exclaimed, "Auditions for the gig are on…"

"Don't I get a say in any of this?" Summer interrupted, finally finding her voice and straightening the situation out in her mind. Everyone looked at her, as though they hadn't realized she was there.

"I'm sorry, Summer. Have you reached a decision?" Dewey asked, and to his credit, appeared very caring and interested in the young woman. She shook her head, and began to open her mouth to say something, when he held his hand out in front of her face, "Then 'no', you get no say. You had your chance, Missy, and you let it slip by. Now we're taking over," he turned his attention back to the two groups, "Audtions are Friday. And the rules of our competition are simple. Winner gets Summer, loser goes home empty-handed. And there's no 'ifs', 'ands', or 'buts' about it. No complaining, no whining, no ranting about how 'it's not fair', and no, I repeat no, going back on the first and foremost rule of this whole entire thing."

"Which would be…what?" Kyle questioned, crossing his arms over his chest and looking warily at the seeming hyperactive man.

"That the final outcome is it. If we win, you can't come crawling by a month later and pull this shit again, got it?"

"_If _you, by some snowball chance in hell, win," Kyle scoffed, "It's a deal."

"Great. Battle of the Bands it is," Dewey grinned, extending his hand with the explanation, "To seal the deal." Kyle took it, and they shook. Freddy and Zack exchanged high-fives, and 'whoops' of zeal. They received odd looks from the Barber Boys.

"This is going to be cake," Freddy grinned.

"You see," Zack smirked, "We've won Junior Battle of the Bands ever since it was formed, four years ago, because of us." Kyle frowned, losing his confident footing for a moment. He regained it somewhat.

"Well, that's about to change," he spun on his heel, then paused, taking Summer's hand and tugging her towards him and the door, "We have to talk," he started in her ear. A flash of red crossed her eyes and she pulled her hand from his grip.

"_Yes_," she stated roughly, "We do." She pushed her way out the door and he followed, confused and awkward. He had the look of one who'd never been talked back to in such a dangerous tone. A few of the School of Rock members could hardly conceal the smiles that crept across their faces, most particularly Zack and Katie. They knew Summer well enough to know, that tone of voice meant nothing good for Kyle. Dewey turned to the band, grinning broadly and feeling very satisfied with himself.

"Looks like we have to practice," he announced, clapping his hands together, "Alright, here's the deal. Gordie, Marco, we need awesome special effects. Not your normal out-of-this-world, but a very rare, ambrosia like experience. In fact, I want the crowd to think they're in heaven…no, you know what, I want the crowd in heaven. Got that, boys? Check out old KISS concerts, Alice Cooper and Ozzy Osbourn, they put on some of the most awesome performances and their effects…spectacular. Security," Frankie and Leonard perked, "I need information on these Barber Boys. Everything you can find out about them, from their musical inspiration, to whether they wear boxers or briefs. Know thine enemy, right?" the two boys nodded, "Billy, Fancy Pants, my little Henry Duarte…we need a new style…"

"Great," Billy squealed, "Because I have _all _these ideas…"

"Lets just stay away from glam rock, alright," Dewey insisted, before, "Ladies, especially you two, Michelle, Eleni, because the other girls will be busy with practice. You girls need to work on Summer, talk to her. Winning the competition means nothing if she's ticked off at us. It won't matter if we win this battle, we've still got to win the war, am I right?" The girls nodded.

"We'll take her shopping," Michelle exclaimed, "I'm in need of a new dress for the show."

"Oh, I saw this cute outfit at Charlotte Russe," Eleni squeaked, "It would look just awesome with those shoes you got at…"

"Okay, ladies. Ladies?" Dewey called, waving a hand in front of their faces, "Hello? Let's get back to what's important."

"Oh, sure. Make Summer love us again," Michelle rolled her eyes.

"We got it, Dewey," Eleni sighed.

"Good. Um…Zack, me and you need to work on new material," Dewey said, pointing to the lead guitarist, "What have you got? Any new songs bouncing around in that brain of yours?"

"I've got a few ideas…" Zack mumbled, shrugging, "But nothing good…"

"You always say that and it's always totally rockin'," Dewey interrupted, "Now, I've got homework assignments for the band. Where are my crooners? Tomika, gal, you got soul, you got rhythm, you got pipes. Now take Queen "A Night at the Opera", and just…listen to it, study it, get to know it like the back of your hand. Freddy Mercury, one of the greatest vocalist of all time. Marta, grab Pat Benatar. I don't usually condone listening to former opera singers, but I want you to observe, most specifically, her edge, her attitude. Alicia, I'm giving you Aerosmith "Toys In The Attic". Pay close attention to Walk This Way and Sweet Emotion. You'll find those CD's on my shelf. You four; Katie, Freddy, Lawrence, Zack, we're having a group study session. We seriously need to cram with some serious rock, get our group dynamic down. Eagles, Lynard Skynard, KISS, Guns 'n Roses, Journey, Deep Purple, Rolling Stones…Zack, I need to lend you some Bob Dylan, the Beatles…oh, and Katie, pick up a Stray Cats CD on your way home. It's a little more swing style than rock, but those guys know how to use that bass.

"Gang, this Battle of the Bands has to be serious. This isn't like those other years…this is as big as…as big as…the first Battle of the Bands you kids participated in. Because guys, we've got more of a purpose right now than putting on a totally killer show. We have to stick it to those guys, one more time. Ultimately, this is a battle, of good versus bad. This is a show down that was a long time coming, between them, the Man going under the guise of pop music, and us, rock. So kids, get out there and get started on your assignments!"

They broke into cheers, as was accustomed when Dewey finished his speeches, unless they were more along the lines of rants, which were then followed by confused blank stares. The kids began out the door, most of them, with rejuvenated looks and motivated direction. Katie seemed to trudge out beside Zack, Tomika was silently walking with Lawrence, and Marta shuffled behind Michelle and Eleni, chattering excitedly with Alicia.

"Freddy," Dewey called, as the blonde was making his way out the door, having retrieved his drumsticks. He paused, looking up curious and almost fearful of the older man, "Can I…uh…talk to you, for a moment?" The last members leaving glanced back, and Dewey waved to them. Freddy nodded, and the door quietly closed.

"What did you want?" he asked, clacking the drumsticks together in his hands, and watching as Dewey crossed the room to stand by the couch, hands on hips. The older man seemed to be mulling things over in his mind, gazing out into the empty air, before turning back to the befuddled drummer.

"What's up with you lately?" It was blunt, as was Dewey's style. To the man's credit, he never second guessed things, never really hesitated. His morals and ideals of what was right or wrong was a little skewed, but he was always straightforward. Freddy hated that attribute in the older man at the moment. He shifted, lowering his eyes, and rubbing the back of his head absently.

"What do you mean?"

"Look, man, you haven't been yourself lately and I'm not going to pretend I haven't noticed. You've been getting angry for no reason, you've been pretty quiet lately, and you're getting really sloppy on the drums."

"It's just this whole Summer thing, it has everyone out of whack," Freddy attempted. Dewey shook his head.

"No, no. This isn't about Summer. This started before that…coming to practices hung over. Don't give me that surprised look, I've been getting drunk, and hung over, long before you were even born. And I'm not the only one that knows what you've been up to. And man, _the girls_?"

"A few times. I'm a sixteen year old boy, can I not want to be with a girl?" Freddy demanded, brow drawn together, trying to stare a hole into the floor.

"Not the way you've been with girls, man."

"You don't know how I've been with girls," Freddy cried, eyes snapping up to meet Dewey's, "Man, what do you care about my life, anyways?"

"What do you think?" Dewey argued, "We're band mates. And friends, right? And…I don't know…I'm the adult in this group, the oldest, wisest, and all that crap. I feel like I owe it to you guys to look out for you. And I know you had problems before, and this sort of thing has been happening for awhile now, but it's only recently gotten serious."

"What are you talking about?"

"What happened to your hand the other day, Freddy? And now your other one?"

"It's none of your business!"

"Alright, that's fair," Dewey sighed, shaking his head and turning away, "Are things okay at home? I mean, since you've moved in with your dad…"

"That place is not my home," Freddy muttered under his breath, then louder and more firmly, "Just drop it, okay? Everything's fine."

"Alright, alright. If you say things are fine, then they're fine. But I really want to talk about this girl thing," Dewey pressed, "I've seen some of the chicks you hook up with, and I have to be honest, I'm worried about you. Those girls are kind of…I don't think they're good for you. Why don't you get yourself a nice girl…"

"Because nice girls don't like me, alright? The girls I get, they don't care about me. It doesn't matter, you think I care about them? Fuck, Dewey, I can't get a girl that cares about me," Freddy roared, shaking his head, and muttering, "I don't deserve a girl that cares about me."

"Hey," Dewey snapped, "Look at me. Let me tell you a little story about deserving. There ain't no such thing. You think those babies in China deserve to be abandoned, simply because they're little girls and not little boys? You think those kids in those little third world countries deserve to starve to death because the food isn't distributed right? You think those people in Africa deserve to die of AIDs because their government won't educate them about safe sex? No! Look around. Do you think I deserve this crappy apartment and…okay, don't answer that one. But the others are still true. Everybody is always deciding what you need for you, and what you want, and what you _deserve_. _You _got to start setting that standard and forget about them. The difference between you and those other kids suffering is they don't have that choice. You decide what you deserve, and I think you're selling yourself short."

"Dude, you've been talking to Katie too much," Freddy murmured, in response to the social references Dewey had made. He crossed his arms in front of his chest, downcast. Dewey simply smirked, nodding.

"Yeah," he mumbled, "And you know, man, _I_ think, you do deserve a really great girl, maybe more than any of us. I know a lot of guys who have really good girlfriends, that treat them right, care about them, love them, and they aren't even half as deserving as you, man."

"You're wrong," Freddy shook his head.

"No, I'm not. You're a good kid."

"I am not…"

Dewey clapped a hand on Freddy's shoulder, causing the younger to look up and meet his eyes, surprised by the sincerity in the older man's voice.

"Yes. You are a good kid. And you deserve a lot better than you're giving yourself."

Freddy sniffed, and the two broke away from each other, as though waking from a trance. Dewey moved his guitar up to his belly, plucking a few of the strings unflappably.

"I do…kind of…have a girl that I've been thinking about a lot lately," Freddy admitted, daring a peek Dewey's direction.

"Oh, who?" to his credit, the burlesque elder man actually looked interested.

"No one, really," Freddy shrugged, heading towards the door, his heart pounding as a familiar face filled his mind and the sting in his cheek seemed ever more pronounced. What was he thinking? He could't actually feel that way about her, could he? And then, going so far as to tell Dewey? For all the good things Dewey Finn was, confidant wasn't one of them, "It doesn't matter, anyhow. She's way out of my reach…she's taken. She's already got the perfect boyfriend. She's not really my type, either."

"But she's a good girl?"

"Yeah," Freddy smirked, hand resting on the doorknob, "She's…really…amazing. I think sometimes she might like me…but then…" he trailed off and shrugged, "And she still has that boyfriend."

"Yup," Dewey groaned, stretching, "All the good ones are taken. But hey," he joked, "It's not like she's married. I'll see you later, dude." He slumped onto the couch, as Freddy left with a wave, the older rocker giving no more mind to their conversation, and congratulating himself on a job well done.

0-0-

Summer leaned against the door, pushing it shut, staring in with a sigh at her seemingly empty house. She smiled, despite what had just taken place, and wrapped her arms about her body. That day had been too long and so much had happened. And now, she had damage control to run, starting with a phone call. She began into the living room, and jumped when she saw her mother sitting on the couch, dressed in a pinstripe pantsuit.

"Mom?" Summer spoke, "What are you doing?" Her mother turned, looking at Summer with pursed lips and quickly giving her a once over.

"You forgot," she stated simply, "Where's your organizer? I was sure it was marked in there. And weren't you out with Kyle? I told him all about this, and how important it was that you be home on time. He wouldn't have forgotten, would he?"

"What…? Forgot what?"

"Your meeting with Mr. Phillbur," her mother said, obviously annoyed, "How can you hope to get into an Ivy League academy with that nonchalant attitude of yours? This meeting was very important. We're late already, I've called him and said we were stuck in traffic and shouldn't be much longer. You've made me lie to this gentleman…who is taking great leaps to help you! Now go get cleaned up. I've laid an outfit out for you on the bed. You've already made an awful impression, I don't want to screw this meeting up anymore than you have." Summer swallowed hard, but nodded, trekking slowly up the stairs. She didn't breath until her bedroom door clicked shut behind her.

A blouse, crisp white, and a flowery blue skirt, knee length, were laid out on her comforter. A pair of black patent Maryjanes with white cotton socks were neatly folded to the side. Summer took a deep breath, her mind spinning in circles. She went over the events of the last few hours in her head, before swinging her pack forward and shifting through it, removing her cell phone. She dialed a number, almost automatically, and let it ring in her ear before someone picked up.

"Hello?" a groggy voice murmured. Summer pressed her lips together, and they twitched slightly, wanting to smile at that much missed drowsy drawl.

"Hey, Katie," she greeted, trying to sound her usual perky, "I should probably first say, I'm really sorry. I've treated you like total crap, and I hadn't even meant to, since you are my best friend, for God knows what reason. I'm a horrible person, and I hope that somewhere deep inside, you can find it in you to…maybe…possibly…forgive me?"

There was a long silence, in which a darkness crept over Summer's heart. Soft breathing filled her ear, and she knew she was too late, that her words were falling on deaf ears, and that she was being ridiculous, that it was wrong of her to call, and she was simply wasting her time. She waited for the inevitable rejection to happen.

"Summer?"

"Y-yes?"

"Did you just say I was your best friend?"

"I…did I?" Summer stammered, running back through the things she'd said. She'd spent fifteen minutes planning her little speech out, but she didn't recall putting "best friend" in it anywhere, "I guess I did…is that alright?"

"Did you mean it?"

Summer was thoughtful a moment. She remembered Katie's face in the car, so pleading, so begging. She frowned. That promise she'd made to Katie had seemed so empty the past few weeks, but now, she didn't feel any nagging doubts about their friendship.

"Yes, I did," she answered honestly, "I hadn't meant to say it. But it fits, because…it's true. We are best friends. Aren't we?"

"Yeah, Summer," Katie replied, a smirk in her voice, "We are," her voice caught a little, "I thought you didn't think we were real friends, though." Summer faltered as she took a seat on the bed, squashing her neatly pressed clothes.

"Zack told you what I said, huh?" she surmised. Katie was quiet, and Summer took that as a 'yes'. "I wish I could say I didn't mean it."

"But you did."

"Katie," Summer took a deep breath, but her words were still unsteady, and slightly choked with a sob, "I don't even know what a real friend is. I've never had one before."

"Then," Katie started, her tone surprisingly lighthearted, "At least give us…me…the chance to teach you. I mean, we are the _School _of Rock, after all." Summer held her breath.

"So you forgive me?"

"I didn't say that," Katie chuckled, "Your first lesson in friendship. Friends can choose to forgive, best friends are obligated to. And…seeing as how we're best friends…I kind of have to, don't I?"

Summer leaned back on her bed, feeling the awnings of the first real smile she'd experienced in that entire week. It would be nice, she thought, to finally know what it meant to have a real friend. She just hoped the others could be as forgiving.

"Also," Katie's voice broke through her thoughts, "Best friends are obligated to tell one another everything. Especially, when one best friend recently had, what looked like, a possible fight between her boyfriend."

"I'm guessing that's your less than subtle way of saying give you the details."

"Alright, since you're obviously not into the whole subtlety thing…give me the details." Summer grinned as her friend's comfortingly familiar giggling filled her ear. She sighed, deeply.

"Well…" she started.

"Summer," her mother's voice resounded from outside her door, followed by a short series of vicious poundings on said wooden obstruction.

"It'll have to be some other time," she whispered to Katie, "I'll call you tonight…later, maybe?"

"Why? What's going on?"

"I have a meeting with a Harvard alumnus," Summer answered, rolling her eyes, then calling, "I'll be one minute, mother."

"Alright. I'll be waiting with bated breath by my phone. Call me the minute you get back in," Katie exclaimed, "Bye…um…should we have nicknames for each other? What with being best friends and all?"

"Well, we do, don't we? Posh?" Summer replied, giggling. She could visualize the broad grin in place across her friend's face.

"I'll catch you later then, eh, Tink?"

"Yeah, later." Summer hung the phone up, falling onto her back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh. That went better than she thought it would. Her mother pounded the door once more, shaking her back to reality and her current priority.

* * *

END A/N: WOW! I love the next chapter that's coming up...this chapter, not so much. But it's important to the plotline. I hope Katie's easy forgiving of Summer was believable, she just...she really wants the friendship with Summer to work out. Her relationship with Summer is really important to her, but I get into that later...

I forgot to mention, last chapter...I don't know if anyone noticed, but Summer's POV in her thoughts changed. It actually signifies something. It wasn't just a whim, or sudden alteration in writing style. And I also don't know if anybody caught it, but when different characters are "thinking", they all think in different POV, which are significant to their character. I'll fill you in: Summer, until chapter nine, always thought in Second Person ("you"). It almost gave an accusatory feel to her thoughts, at least, that was my hope for it. Freddy always "thinks" in third person (he references himself in "thought" as "he"). Which is supposed to show that he kind of thinks of himself on an outside level. Kind of...less important...or...god I can't explain it. He doesn't really "think" directly about himself. And Katie, the only other one it would seem that's had "thought" moments, "thinks" in first person. Which takes me back to the significance of Summer's switch in though POV. Hm...you know what...ten points to whoever can figure out why I pulled that switcheroo in POV...why it's important. What does the change in POV signify about her character? Anyone? Anyone?

Now...this chapter...um...YAY! Dewey/Freddy conversation. Totally fun. I love giving Dewey this almost "fatherly" position in the band. He kind of looks at them as "his kids", if you didn't get that from the conversation. And the crack about "You talk to Katie too much..." well, you probably haven't picked up on it in the story, but Katie is kind of the environmentalist, feminist, Greenpeace, save the earth, make peace not war, gal. At least, that's the kind of character I'm pushing her as...and all that stuff Dewey mentioned about those countries and people...it's true. Sad, huh? My uncle and his wife are going to adopt a little girl from China. Man, I hope that conversation made sense...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. REVIEW!

And, Thanks for Reading! Yay! Today's my day off...I have...homework to do...bummer.

Umm...AJ is the name of a Backstreet Boy...right? He's a real nowhere man...


	11. Blood Is Thicker Than Water

A/N: Technically this is a day early...depending on how long it takes me to write up these A/N's. Nope, it's not.

Thanks for the reviews guys:

IndesElfwine: Thanks for the praise. I'm glad you liked the interactions. Who was your favorite band, if you don't mind me asking? I mentioned a lot of them...

Ash (Ashley): I'm glad you decided to review, thanks so much! I really didn't like She's Leaving, but it makes me feel better about it, knowing that you felt it was so good!

radiance x: I'm flattered you feel that way, but I don't think Miranda Cosgrove and Kevin Clark would be very happy with any sequel I wrote...considering there is a slight age gap between the two of them...hm...I do love emotion. It's so much fun to work with...that sounds weird.

wyverna: Ska's not my forte either. Though I did love the Aquabats (HUGELY! Mission Applesauce, applesauce, applesauce...!) hehehe...who knows what happened to Gwen's bandmates...well, somebody probably does, but then...eh. You're not that bad. I don't make friends at all. People who I'm friendly with, I don't know if they're my friends. I don't know if I have any friends...I have people I talk with...at work and junk. Oh my god, I have no friends. I'm an anti-social loser. I could cry right now...You should never be afraid to sound dumb. Because the majority of the world is dumb, and you seem rightly intelligient to me, so you're _way_ ahead of them anyways. Technically, Dewey mentioned those issues, and yeah, I know about the religion thing. Even though condoms are the only form of contraception that offer protection against STD's.The deal with those misspellings. When I mentioned Ozzy, I was thinking of the spelling of Joan Osbourn's name, and that's why I spelled his name that way. And then in regards to Freddie Mercury (RIP), I am so used to spelling the name 'Freddy' (as per our beloved Freddy Jones), which is why that happened. I really wasn't thinking. And no, it didn't sound mean. I appreciate when people point those things out to me, as I don't always take the time to double check my spelling on band names (and bandmate's names), and a lot of people are a little anal about those things. I'm a mean person, so you really shouldn't worry about being mean to me, either. Love the long review!

sweetcaroline: Yeah, it wasn't the greatest display of my writing abilities, but as I said, it was necesary to the plotline. The Backstreet Boys are back? DAMMIT! I am _so _firing that hitman...I can't really update out of time, because then I'll get all screwed up, and catch up to the chapter I'm writing right now, and then I'll be writing them really quickly and posting them when they're finished and updates would take longer and...I bet none of that rambling run-on made sense. I reviewed Mr.&Mrs. Jones, though Ididn't sign-in (sorry...there was a reason...but I forget). I signed as "SD", like I always do when I review unsigned.

i am not a chipmunk: Yeah, there are few boys in this world as cute as him...sigh...Fredmister? Okay. Your mind, your fantasy. Oh, yes, hot bastard on asshole action. Yeah, Summer's mom (in my story) is a bitch. Yes, I do think. Quite often, actually. SometimesI stop, because my brain somewhat...shuts down...but I do think! J/K. Sorry...

Nanners-77: Did you catch the New Kids on the Block reference too? Or am I the only one old enough to get that...I can't tell you what happens...I don't laugh at Richard Simmons, I don't laugh with Richard Simmons. He scares me, and I cry. I don't know if your guess got cut off, or what...but I'm not sure what "sort with herself" means, so I can't tell you if you're right or not. But I don't doubt you're not too far off. Bullies smell? Some of them do, I guess...and yes, it is a good thing that you're getting into this story!

closetwriter: Yup, I loved writing the Dewey/Freddy conversation. Wait no more, here it is...

Alex: Whelp, sounds like you have it all figured out...sort of. Are you thinking of Kyle when you say Austin? I think you're confused, or I'm confused, or you're confusing me...ACK! Dewey would SO NEVER go back to No Vacancy. I know, I've seen this characterization of him too many times to count. That he's a drunkard, a bum, or leaves the band for a band of older, more professional musicians. Those people really aren't in tune with the movie, or are taking serious liberties. Just because Dewey went to school with a hangover means nothing. Remember, he went their that day on short notice, and got drunk the day before, not knowing he would be going to "work". Jeez, people, WATCH the movie, for crying out loud! Sorry, didn't mean to rant. Yup, I loved the Freddy/Zack high-five too! My birthday is soon...

Parcie05: Thank god, I hate bad references, and recalling those days when EVERYBODY listened to the Backstreet Boys (even if they sucked, and were really scary.) I can honestly say, I never listened to them...but I may have listened to N'SYNC, and maybe went to one of their concerts...but I never really liked them. My friends were all into them, and I was just like, 'okay, whatever'. Did you notice I asked that, and then went off into a Beatles song? He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land...yup, I am easily distracted. Kill Kyle off? That seems to be the general vote.

vaguely specific: Of course I caught that. Can't Hardly Wait is a good movie. Want to know why? Because Seth Green is in it...mmmm...Seth Green...Actually, when it came to the bands, I was thinking about who I would recommend if I was Dewey. When I watched the movie the first time, I was all like "DON'T GIVE TOMIKA PINK FLOYD (albeit they are a great band, with great lyrics, great music, and great vocals) GIVE HER QUEEN!"And then from there, I was like, "Blondie's okay, but what about Pat Benatar, Stevie Nicks (well, she got a lot of notice in the movie, actually...), Joan Jett, Janis Joplin, Melissa Etheridge even!" And then Aerosmith was a given. And then, I LOVE the Stray Cats. I don't care what anyone thinks, those guys are GREAT! I love all the bands mentioned. You were pretty close with your guess on Summer's POV switch. But it was a little simpler. She's kind of finding her own voice, is all. In her mind, she's starting to stick up for herself, which could lead to her sticking up for herself in real life too! And I did update soon. I update sooner than anyone else writing on this site (I think...)!

That's everyone...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 11: Blood Is Thicker Than Water

Katie let her phone droop to her shoulder as she lie staring up at the ceiling from her bed, her bass comfortably settled over her stomach. She felt a smile slip over her face. Best friends. It sounded good. She liked it. She lifted the phone again, staring cross-eyed at it as she dialed another number, one long since memorized by heart. She lay it again by her ear and listened to it ring.

"Hello…" a relaxed drawl answered.

"What are you wearing, baby?" Katie said in a low key seductive tone. There was a light shuffle, and she heard the click of, she assumed, a door shutting in the background.

"Oh, you know…the usual," came the answer, as the shambling ceased, "My flame decaled footsy pajamas." Katie scrunched her nose.

"Footsy pajamas?"

"Yeah, my cute bunny nightgown was dirty," was the snickered response.

"I don't want to know, Zack."

"What's going on, Posh Spice?" he questioned, donning a fairly decent fake British accent, "You sound like you got your Girl Power back."

"I talked to Summer," Katie answered, plucking the strings of her guitar, their melodic rings a comfort along with Zack's soft breathing in her ear.

"Oh?" Zack said, serious once more, hesitant, "And…?"

"We're best friends," she announced happily.

"Katie?" an annoyed voice called, muffled through the door, followed by a light tap.

"I'm busy," Katie shouted, covering the mouthpiece of the phone and frowning.

"Whatever," the voice muttered, "Mom just wants to know if you did your homework."

"Yes, it's done. Now leave," Katie growled.

"Loser gothic," the voice hissed as fading footfalls signaled the unwelcome guest's departure. Katie sighed, pulling herself into a sitting position and giving 'the finger' to her door, accompanied by the sticking out of her tongue. She felt childish, but then, it was hard not to, as the owner of that voice always made her feel that way.

"Your sister," Zack acknowledged.

"Yeah. The older, blonder one," Katie rolled her eyes.

"She's blonde again?"

"She re-dyed her roots, _finally_," Katie explained, then sarcastically, "But, _sigh_, that's one less thing I have to make fun of her for."

"But then, there's still her low IQ, her prep getup, the fact she _likes_ wearing her school uniform dress code regulation, her choice in music…cough, cough…Spear Brittany…cough…" Katie felt her smile return and she chuckled lightly, "And, you know, if it makes you feel better, you're not a loser. At least, I don't think so."

"What about a Goth?" Katie questioned and Zack seemed suddenly overwhelmed with a coughing fit.

"I'm sorry…I'm choking here…can't…answer…that…question…" he gasped.

"Jerk."

"Goth."

"Loser."

"Bigger loser."

"You just said I wasn't a loser."

"And you believed me, a loser myself?" Zack broke into laughter, and after a moment, Katie joined in, falling back onto her bed, "What's with the wicked bleached blonde of the west, anyways?" he asked, as their amusement died down.

"We got in a fight, and reached an unsettling conclusion."

"What would that be?"

"There's no possible way we're related, and as I fit in this family the least, I must be adopted," Katie exclaimed in mock perk, but her last words caught in her throat.

"Katie," Zack whispered, "You know that that's not true…" But he trailed off. He knew what was coming.

"I was four when he told me to stop calling him dad," Katie mumbled, crossing the room to set her guitar in its case. She plucked the first string once more before walking away from it to stand in front of her full length mirror and study herself.

Her shoulder length black hair was twisted back into a bun, small strands of hair sticking out at the top and fanning around the crown of her head. Baby hairs curled into her face. She rubbed a thumb over her olive skin, and traced a finger under her eye, noting the natural dark circles beneath. She was tall, thick and clumsy. People often told her she should be an athlete. She hated that. She sucked in her stomach, wishing it wasn't quite so rounded, that her shoulders weren't so broad, her hips weren't so wide, and maybe her chest was a little more pronounced, little more shapely. She looked nothing like her siblings, fair complexions, light hair, light eyes, dabbled freckles, and dimples in their cheeks. Her two sisters were thin, delicate, and femininely shaped. Her brother was lithe, with a gymnast's body, wiry form. None of them were as awkward and gangly as she was.

Zack was silent. He hated being the one she talked to about all of this, but as he was the only one who knew, he had to deal with it. She needed him to listen and he would be damned if he wasn't there when one of his friends needed him.

"I used to wonder," Katie went on, "Why he would pick up Miranda, swing her through the air, and call Lydia his little princess, why he would ruffle Scott's hair…why he would tuck all of them in at night and give them kisses on their foreheads, and he would just ignore me." She spun from her image, but found herself falling to the floor, sitting cross-legged on the rough shag carpet. Her voice was surprisingly steady, like always, it failed to betray her true emotions, "I thought I was doing something wrong, but it didn't make sense. I did everything the way they all did. I called him 'daddy', I tried so hard to be a good girl…"

"Katie, don't do this to yourself," Zack interrupted.

"I was four, Zack," Katie cried, shuddering, "I spent most of my life being invisible to the only father I ever knew. He couldn't even pretend…but why would he? I am the constant reminder that his wife couldn't keep her legs shut! I'm the bastard product of my mother's infidelity! Sometimes…you know, sometimes…I think it would have been better if I were never born…"

"Now you can stop _that_, right there," Zack snapped, "Jeez, Katie…if you were never born, who would be the awesome bassist in our band?"

"Oh, great, I'm a guitar player. What a reason to live," Katie muttered cynically, burying her face in her lap, her words choking in her throat, "He wishes I were never born. My mom wishes I were never born…she would have gotten away with that stupid affair of hers…_they_ all wish I was never born, because I'm the reason their mom and dad fight all the time and hate each other…name one person, one goddamned person, who's happy I was born."

"Me."

Katie was silent, twin streaks staining her cheeks. She hadn't even realized she was crying. She could have sworn her heart skipped a beat at that one word.

"I'm sorry, Zack," she said softly, "I guess that fight I had with my sister really got to me. I don't mean to whine. No wonder everyone thinks I'm a depressed loner Goth."

"It's cool," Zack told her, and she heard the beginning riffs of Guns N Roses "Sweet Child O' Mine" play lightly in the background. He knew the song comforted her but this was an almost subconscious strumming, as though his fingers just instinctively knew she needed to hear the melody, "I guess I have my moments too. We can all be drama queens at some point in time."

"You're really happy I was born?" she dared ask.

"No, I was just saying that to shut you up," Zack joked and Katie smiled, "Of course I'm glad you were born. Who else will call me up in the middle of the night to ask me what I'm wearing?"

"You're right, Zack. If I was never born, nobody would ever know you were wearing footsy pajamas right now," Katie chuckled.

"You know I was lying, right?"

"Oh, were you?"

"Yeah. I'm not wearing anything. I'm completely naked. What about you?"

"Me too. Nude as the day I was born."

"Which was a very good day," Zack put in, "Because if you weren't born then, you wouldn't be sitting here naked with me right now."

"Right," Katie agreed, grinning.

"So what did Summer say?"

"That came out of nowhere."

"Well, someone has to get this conversation back on track, and by gum, I'll do it. I'm not proud of what I have to do, but it's my duty, and I'll..."

"Okay, that's enough," Katie giggled, "Me and Summer just…talked. She apologized mostly."

"And then you reached the conclusion that you were best friends?"

"Yup."

"Lucky. We didn't decide me and her were best friends," Zack pouted.

"Of course not, 'cause _I'm _her best friend," Katie pointed out, then dropping her tone to one of a more serious nature, "I'm really worried about her, Zack. She started talking about how she's never had real friends…something's up and I really wish I knew what it was. I also think something serious went down between her and Kyle."

"But she didn't tell you?"

"She had to run off for some meeting with some college guy. She said she'd call later," Katie crawled her way towards her bed, pulling herself up lazily and stretching out over the comforter, flopping onto her pillow, "I'm just now starting to realize…how little I know about her. I mean, I've known you since…"

"First grade," Zack supplied.

"Yeah, when you dumped finger paint on my head."

"Hey, that was an accident!"

"Sure…whatever you say," Katie muttered indignantly, then clearing her throat, "But Summer didn't come until the third…fourth grade, and even then, I didn't talk with her much until fifth grade when Dewey came."

"And after that, it was almost like…we didn't talk about our home lives and everything. It was always about the band and the music," Zack cut in, "Jesus," he breathed.

"What?"

"She's right," he whispered, "I can almost see where she's coming from…god, that's scary…"

"Zack, don't start agreeing with Summer on me…"

"I'm not," Zack assured her, "I just…I'm starting to understand. Hey, call me later, after you talk to her again. I want to known what happens."

"Sure thing," Katie said, "You know, Summer is my first best friend. I mean, I've had friends before, but no one who I could truly connect with and, you know, me and her really click. She's totally down with all my Greenpeace shit, and I've never had a friend who doesn't mind debating with me and talking about the issues. It's so cool. And she's a feminist."

"So, when's the wedding?" Zack teased.

"Shut up," Katie rolled her eyes, "I wonder how long this college meeting thing is going to take…"

0-0-

Summer glanced out her car window, watching the small suburban houses turn into the city, and then the city turn into the highway, and the highway turn into lavish area with giant plush houses. Time seemed to pass slowly, and quickly all at once as the scenery rolled by and her mother silently watched the road. The radio never played in her mother's car, it was a "distraction". Summer had the distinct feeling that her mother didn't like music of any kind, but then, classical had always played in their household, and musicals. So that couldn't possibly be true. And her mother had played the clarinet, which was why Summer did.

Summer wanted to talk to Katie. At that moment, she had so much to say, so much bursting through her, and for once, she finally felt like she could let it all fall out. She finally had a best friend. And not like Rachel, no. Her and Katie weren't going to sit around and make up lame excuses for why nobody liked them. They weren't going to mope, and feel sorry for themselves. And they weren't going to rely on each other for friendship because no one else would offer. They were friends because…she frowned. Maybe it was a lie. It had been too easy to get Katie to forgive her. Maybe she was being set up. She felt a wrench in her heart. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been played for a fool.

The car pulled to a stop, and the slam of a car door shook Summer back to reality. Her mother had exited the vehicle. Summer glanced out the window at the large white house with a heavy sigh. Her mother knocked on the pane of glass giving her an impatient look. She grimaced, swinging the door open and hopping out, wrapping her arms about her self and following her mother begrudgingly up the courtyard to the front door. Her mother rang the doorbell, and tapped her foot, before looking to Summer and reaching a hand out to straighten her daughter's hair.

"You're not wearing the shirt I left out for you," her mother realized.

"Yeah…I…" Summer cleared her throat, "I wanted to wear this instead."

"It looks tacky," her mother commented, tsking, "I guess there's nothing that can be done about it, now. I don't see why you couldn't wear the shirt I picked out…"

"I'm not a little girl, mom," Summer muttered, immediately regretting it as a familiar rage flashed through her mother's eyes. She flinched as the front door opened and Mr. Philbur's smiling face greeted them, along with his perfect blonde wife neatly strapped at his side.

"You must be Mrs. Hathaway and…Summer?" he greeted, and Summer's mother took his outstretched hand, "This is my wife, Helen."

"It's nice to meet you. I'm sorry we're so late," Summer's mother quickly apologized, "I hope dinner hasn't gotten cold…"

"It's no problem," Mr. Philbur assured her, "Our cook kept dinner warm in the oven, and it's not like you could control the situation. Unless you have some machine that clears up traffic…because I would pay good money for that." The three adults broke into laughter, and Summer simply nodding, forcing a smile.

The Philburs stepped back, letting the mother and daughter in and leading the way to the sitting room. Helen seemed to be explaining the many artworks on display in the hallway, and the different rooms, and the history of the house, but Summer walked almost blearily behind them, not really paying attention and unable to focus. She let her mind wander, staring at her feet as she followed the adults down the hall, and sat gracefully down onto the plush mahogany sofa, next to her mother. She wondered what School of Rock was doing at that moment, how they were preparing for the Battle of the Bands. Then she thought of Kyle and the Barber Boys. How could both groups do this to her? They couldn't possibly think that she would go along with whatever the outcome was…could they? She chewed her lower lip. Would she?

It felt good, being on good terms with Katie again. Summer wondered how the others would react to an attempt at rebuilding their friendship. She wondered how Freddy would. She felt her stomach knot, closing her eyes. You shouldn't have slapped him, she told herself. No. I was angry. He had punched my boyfriend, I had every right. He probably thinks you're a complete and total bitch. After the night before, after Austin, after how he acted, after everything was normal between you and him…you turn around and slap him in the face. And Zack. All those things you said to him. If he told Katie, there was a good chance, he'd told all the others as well. She wondered how much of what she'd said was true. To her, to them.

"…I'm personally fond of Beethoven, but who isn't? Summer, who would you say was the greatest composer of the past century?" Mr. Philbur's voice broke into her thoughts. She startled, all eyes eagerly on her.

"John Lennon," she murmured.

"Excuse me…who?" the room was stunned quiet. She shook from her daze.

"I'm sorry…what?"

"We should probably serve dinner," Helen announced, and her husband was quick to agree. They all scrambled to their feet, heading towards the kitchen. Summer's mother placed a hand on her shoulder, holding her back momentarily, and hissing in her ear.

"Pay attention. Do not screw this up, Summer, I pulled a great deal of strings to set up this meeting. Show a little manners and listen when he speaks to you."

They took a seat around the great oak dining table. And Summer slumped in her chair, until she received a stern glance from her mother. She straightened, smoothing out her skirt and placing a fake smile on her face.

"So, tell me about your goals," Mr. Philbur spoke up, laying a cloth napkin in his lap, "Which school do you plan on going to? My old alma mater can't be the only thing on your list…"

"I'm not certain," Summer replied, "Harvard was my top choice, as well as Yale, of course, Dartmouth, Princeton and Brown were my backups."

"Ambitious," Mr. Philbur commented, leaning forward on the table to peer amusedly down at the young woman, "What do you hope to study?" Summer faltered momentarily, her lips twitching, her mind racing for an answer. What did she hope to study? Her mother shot her an aggressive look.

"I…um…originally I had hoped to pursue a career in politics," she offered.

"And…now?"

"I manage a rock band," she blurted out. Then grimaced, as the Philburs' faces contorted with confusion and her mother's eyes flew wide. The rest of the night, as was expected, went downhill from there.

As they left the house, Summer stiffly ambled into the passenger seat of her mother's car. Her mother started the engine and slowly pulled out of the courtyard onto the road. They sat in silence, Summer rigid and braced for what she instinctively knew, from long years of experience, was coming. Her mother gripped the wheel tightly, her fingers and knuckles turning white under the pressure and her breaths were sharp gasps. Summer folded her hands in her lap, studying them and wishing she could disappear, fade into the leather seating of her mother's Volkswagen. Alas, but that was physically impossible.

"You are a complete and total disappointment," her mother finally spoke, her words low and seedy, "I should have known your brother would have all the potential. He would have handled the situation with grace, he would have…"

"Then why didn't you set him up with that meeting?" Summer spat, then catching herself, she bit into her lip. She knew the answer to that, though her mother would never admit it. The car wheels squealed as the vehicle veered off the road and was pulled to an abrupt halt at the curb.

"I have given you everything," her mother seethed, "I have worked my hands to the bone! I have spent days and nights slaving at a job I hate, so that I could pay fifteen thousand dollars a year, so that you could make something of yourself! So that you would never have to face the turmoil and agony and suffering that I have. And all you have to give me is a…a…_rock _band? A damned rock band? Listen to me, Summer, now you have me using foul language!"

"Yes, mother, I've crossed the line now," Summer muttered, "I'm sorry if my dream in life is no longer the same one you crammed down my…" Her mother's hand flicked across her cheek, once, twice, three times. She waited, in that silence that followed, for her mother's usual apology, her cheek stinging, both women breathing heavily. It never came.

"Get out of the car," her mother commanded.

"What?" Summer looked dry-eyed to her mother, shocked.

"You heard me. I'm tired of your ungrateful mouth, your ungrateful presence. They're not your friends, you little brat, they're just using you. I've told you that time and again, and yet, you're still willing to throw away everything you…everything _I_ worked for, for them? Get out of the car, get out of my sight. You can walk home, you unappreciative…little…GET OUT!"

"Mom…I…"

Her mother stretched over her, hand shooting out to toss her car door open.

"Get out!" she screamed, shoving at her daughter, "Get out! Walk yourself home! See what carrying yourself feels like for once! You want to manage that band, then you're on your own! With everything! Don't ask me for help anymore! Get out of my car!" She raked her nails along Summer's arm, pushing, shoving, grabbing the younger girl's hair and head and throwing her out of the vehicle with a great deal of force. Then the older woman reached forward, grabbed the door and yanked it shut, pulling away from the curb and tearing down the street.

Summer stood, stunned. Her cheek hurt, her head hurt where her mother had pulled her hair, some of the strands had tugged out, her arm hurt where her mother's nails had dug into her flesh, it was now lightly bleeding. Sickeningly, she realized, her mother was not coming back for her. She wrapped her arms about her body, sniffed lightly, entranced by the faded afterimage dancing in front of her eye of the fleeing car. She was alone now, standing in the dead streetlamp light. She looked around, trying to get her bearings straight, and realized she had no idea where she was. And then another unsettling fact gripped her. In the sudden commotion, her pack was left behind in the car. Along with her cell phone. She swallowed hard the tears forming, but she couldn't seem to get past the thick lump that now blocked her throat. She was alone. Abandoned. And lost.

For a few minutes, Summer wandered around aimlessly. She crossed the street, wandered past gated mansions, and insanely well kempt lawns and streets. She passed the same houses a few times, and finally found herself back at the streetlamp where her mother had left her. Her bottom lip trembled. She was walking in circles, of course. She slid to the ground, pulling her legs to her chest and succumbing to tears.

"Where am I?" she whimpered, "I'm so lost…" then a great sob burst through her chest, "Daddy…" It was all she could think of, this great aching inside of her, overcoming her. All she wanted at that moment was the stability she once knew. The stability she'd had when her father was alive. She just wanted someone strong, someone to take her in his arms and tell her everything would be alright. Someone to hold her, stroke her back, take care of her, protect her.

The sound of footsteps brought Summer to her feet. She searched the darkness of the night with wide, red-rimmed eyes, alert for any movement. A figure was making its way up the sidewalk, a bag in hand. As the person grew nearer, she felt a calm compose her. There was something familiar in this newcomer. She rubbed her cheeks, and the person stopped in the edge of the light, eyeing her curiously, and she stared back in shock at the young man before her casually dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, a jacket. He held a brown paper grocery bag in his arm, and his drumsticks were casually held in his freehand.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned, agape.

"I live right over there," Freddy answered, as though it were obvious, "What are _you_ doing here?" Summer looked down, chewing her lower lip. She couldn't think of a reason, her brain was a mess. "Are you okay?" the concern sounded so completely genuine, that Summer couldn't help the tears that spilled down her already wet cheeks. She nodded.

"I…I was visiting with someone," she began, her voice shaky. It was somewhat the truth, "And I…I assured them I could walk home….but…foolish me, I really don't know this area…and…I've gotten myself all turned around and…"

"Where's your phone?"

"I left it at home," she quickly lied, "Foolish me again…"

"Well…I can walk you home," he offered.

"No," Summer snapped, all too fast, and hastily covered it up with, "I mean…I just wanted to sit in the cool air for awhile, I've been walking a long time and…" She didn't want to go home yet. Her mother would be there, and she really didn't want Freddy to see her mother in that kind of mood. Not to mention, if he walked her home, it would only further upset her mother, who was intent on teaching her a lesson about how 'bad' her friends were.

"Whatever," Freddy shrugged, "I'm going back to the Jones' Estate then." He began to turn and she made an almost squeaking noise. He stopped, giving her a bewildered stare. He didn't know she could squeak.

"You're going to leave me here…alone…in the dark…?" He rolled his eyes.

"You can come too, if you want," he suggested. She glanced around sheepishly, seeming uncertain of the idea. "Look, I'm going. If you want to stay here, then stay here. But I'm not." As he began off again, a slight smirk graced his features as she followed slowly behind.

Freddy led the way to another street and marched up the gravel pathway to an elaborate gate. He squeezed through the bars, and Summer followed suit, reluctantly at first. She stared up, or gaped more like it, at the mammoth house, easily the largest on the block. With wide, tall, painted glass windows, white walls, and fancy arcs, elaborate buttresses, and romantic balconies; short of turrets, it was a castle. Immediately, she was ashamed of her own house. How small, simple, and undistinguished it must have seemed to the boy who could call this gorgeous mansion home.

The drummer hopped up towards the double doors, and jabbed a key in, twisting the lock and swinging open the heavy oak door. He held his arm out, motioning for Summer to enter, and she did so. Her mouth dropped. If the outside had been impressive, then the inside was simply stunning, sheer beauty. Everything glistened, everything shined, and sparkled. She suddenly felt so plain and small in that household, where magnificent people must have walked and lived and danced and marched. It seemed to press in on her, all the gloriousness, and she could hardly breath. Too taken in by the entryway alone, she barely noticed as Freddy began down the hall, barely glancing at his surroundings. He paused, flickering a glimpse her direction. If she'd caught it, she would have seen the unmistakable hint of regret, and sorrow. He didn't want her to be there. Didn't want her to marvel at this prison he was forced to live in. Didn't want her to look at him differently now from seeing this house, the luxury his parents afforded, and forced on him. Not all that glitters is gold, he wanted to tell her, but he couldn't get the words out. She was already changing, he thought, her perception of him was already altering. She would never understand. She must be thinking, he realized, how fortunate he was. How perfect his life must really be.

She met his eyes, and smirked, "So this is where you actually live?" He snorted lightly, shaking his head.

"Come on," he prodded, heading down the hallway and she shuffled to fall into step behind him. She watched with wide-eyes the rooms and decorations they passed, taking it all in. He felt a knot forming in his stomach. The perfect life, he told himself miserably, the perfect house, perfectly rich, perfectly…

"Where is everyone?" Summer broke the silence. He paused at the sliding glass door, hand resting on the knob, and looked back at her perplexed. What did that mean?

"Um…my dad's on business, and…the clean team doesn't come until the morning," he answered casually, confused. It was an odd question, but then, he was used to the empty household and for him it was normal that nobody was there. She gave him a strange look and he wished she would go back to staring in awe at the house. Her brow was drawn together, her lips pressed, and she was almost studying him, as though searching for something in his eyes, though he didn't know what. He felt uncomfortable under that gaze, almost naked. He shifted.

"Is it like this every night?" she questioned, though she had already guessed the answer, so he said nothing, "That's…sad…" she murmured, and he was taken aback. Sad? Didn't she think his life was perfect? And now she found something about it…sad? Her eyes had drifted to the floor, and all at once she seemed downcast, "So…you're all by yourself?"

"No, you're here," Freddy pointed out awkwardly, wanting her to stop with the direction she was taking this conversation. She shook her head.

"It must be lonely…" she commented.

"I don't stay here a lot, alright. I go out," Freddy spat, flinging open the glass door and strutting outside. He wanted to regain composure, to be back in control of the situation. Her utter sympathy for him had taken him by surprise. He hadn't expected for her to notice the one thing in his life that was completely pathetic. The one thing he, himself, had never noticed. That he was alone in that household, that he was alone in life, and that he didn't even miss having company, someone there with him in the late nights, because he never knew that other people had that. He never knew that it was common for people, families, to spend time together. He didn't know what he was missing, so he thought his life was normal. He sniffed, and Summer stepped out of the house beside him, her arm brushing against his, and the tiny hairs stood on end from the sudden rush of warmth.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, "About what I said. About your life…how you couldn't understand rock music…how your life was…"

"Perfect," he offered.

"Yeah…I shouldn't of assumed," she continued softly, "That because you're family was rich and you were pampered since birth, that there was nothing wrong with your life. I know you have your problems, I guess we all do…"

"I don't need your pity, now," Freddy murmured teasingly, and she smiled, chancing a glimpse up at his face.

BARK! BARK! CHINK! BARK! Summer jumped, latching onto Freddy's arm and scanning with wide-eyes the dark backyard, heart pounding in her chest, when the growls and barking broke through the serene atmosphere. Her eyes fell on the group of rottweilers, ecstatically ramming their bodies against a chain link fence across the courtyard. Freddy broke into laughter.

"They're just dogs, Summer," he mocked, taking her hand and leading her across the pavement towards his claimed apartment. She blushed, staring down and leaning in close to him.

"I just…I…didn't expect it, is all," she stammered, lacing her fingers with his, "I didn't know you had dogs."

"They're not mine," Freddy muttered, suddenly disgruntled, "They belong to security. They're just guard dogs. You know, keep out unwanted intruders and solicitors." Summer glanced at the muscular animals, energetically trying to rip through the fence, eyeing the two teens almost hungrily. She swallowed hard. He took her up the wooden steps, and she noticed a splatter of blackish purple on the pavement. It looked like blood, but she shook her head. It was probably paint.

There was the chink of keys, and then jiggling of metal scraping against metal, as Freddy opened the door of the small garage apartment and led Summer inside. It was musty, smelling of Pine-Sol, Windex, and Febreeze. There was a run-down couch in the middle of the brown carpeted floor, looking as though it had been salvaged from the side of the road. There was a small television set up on a table across from the couch, with an obvious cable hook up. The kitchen was bare, tiled with ugly floral print, and the walls were bordered with plywood. There was a, seemingly, brand new fridge pushed against the pantry, and a closed door that Summer decided must lead to a bedroom. Freddy had a drum kit pushed to one side, an assortment of drumsticks lined up on one of the snare drums as though someone didn't know what to do with them and simply discarded them there, and posters of several famous drummers and bands were stapled to the walls. The Who, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones, were among them, along with some more recent bands like Greenday, NOFX, Nirvana, and the Foo Fighters. A t-shirt, another seemingly out-of-place because someone didn't know what else to do with it relic, lay draped over the couch, straightened out. It had a Metallica design on it.

Freddy went into the kitchen, flicking on a light switch and setting the bag on the counter. Summer stood awkwardly by the door, wrapping her arms about herself and pink in the face. She felt very much like an innocent young girl brought into a more experienced boy's room. It was strange, she decided, seeing as how this wasn't exactly his room. But as she took a deep, unsteady breath, and ran her eyes over the small apartment, she knew that it was. This was all Freddy, where as that house across the way, was not. This was where he was himself, where he was content, his sanctuary, his resting place…she would even dare go so far as to say, his home.

"You hungry?" he asked, and she shook from her thoughts, looking startled to him.

"Um…" she glanced down at her stomach. That evening had been stressful, and she realized with a groan from her belly, she hadn't really eaten the dinner given to her. She'd pushed the chicken around, and nibbled on the vegetables, but that was about it. She put a hand on it, as it grumbled softly, flustering, "I guess I am."

"Cool, 'cause I'm starved," he grinned, making his way to the fridge, "You want a drink?" Immediately, knowing Freddy, she thought of alcohol.

"I really don't drink…" she started, but trailed off as he lifted a cola out of the fridge and tilted it somewhat her direction, eyebrow quirked, "Oh…I knew that…yeah, sure." She stepped forward, taking the can out of his hand, their fingers brushing in the exchange, and then he reached back into the cold box, drawing a brown bottle out. Beer, she dimly recognized. He went back to the bag, setting his drink on the counter.

"Make yourself comfortable," he shrugged, motioning towards the makeshift living room. She nodded, walking stilt-legged to the couch and carefully sitting down. She sunk deep into the cushion, as it was worn and no longer had the support of a brand new seat. Rigidly, she popped the cola open, a hiss sizzled from the top, and she took a tentative sip, looking blankly at the black television screen. She flicked glances towards the kitchen, where Freddy was busy with whatever had been in the grocery bag. Then she spotted the remote control, on the edge of the couch arm, and took it up.

"Can I?" she asked, shaking the remote, and Freddy shrugged.

"Sure, whatever," he answered, and she turned the television on, flipping the channels disinterestedly. She stopped on the news briefly, it depressed her. The CNN report, again, it depressed her. A primetime drama, she didn't understand what was going on. Sports, once more, she didn't understand what was going on. A sitcom, she didn't find it, or anything at that moment, funny. VH1, the music reminded her of the bands, which reminded her of the current situation, which in turn, depressed her. She turned the television off and threw the remote back to the arm of the couch.

Freddy dragged a small crate flipped upside down to the center of the room, and Summer startled, watching him as he retreated back to the kitchen, and returned with two paper plates. Each one had half a sub sandwich on it, as well as a stack of potato chips. He placed those atop the crate, went back once more for his beer, and then plopped on the floor across from Summer, grinning proudly.

"I'm a regular gourmet, huh?"

"I'm impressed," she commented softly, humoring him, and slipping to the ground in front of the plate opposite of his. He twisted open his beer, and took a bite of his sandwich. She popped a chip in her mouth.

They ate in silence at first, quietly munching on their food, taking sips of their drinks, and avoiding eye contact with one another. But the silence was unsettling, uncomfortable, and simply didn't seem right between the outspoken teens. Freddy shifted, restlessly, and Summer cleared her throat. They were itching to talk, to say something, but neither knew where to start without inciting another fight that was so common amongst the two.

"What kind of business is your father on?" Summer finally asked, hoping she'd chosen a safe topic to discuss. Freddy scoffed, sneering at his plate, and she knew she hadn't.

"Either the 'having sex with your gorgeous associate or secretary' kind or the 'weekend getaway at a luscious villa with a beautiful client under the guise of a business trip' kind. Take your pick."

Summer took a small bite of her sandwich, chewing carefully, and wishing she hadn't opened her mouth. She made a note, talking to Freddy about his father was a bad idea. She searched for something else. She was succumbing to the silence, finding nothing to chat about, and she hated that. Avoiding conversation on the band left them with no conversation at all. She tried to remember everything they'd chatted about on Tuesday, but while the day was firmly ingrained in her mind, the random chit-chat was far flung and faded. She almost found herself asking, "Read any good books lately", but was saved.

"Who were you visiting with?" Freddy asked.

"Hm…?"

"You said you were visiting with someone around here. Who?"

"Oh," Summer shook her head, "Just some guy…"

"Just some guy…" Freddy repeated skeptically, "Would that be…your sugar daddy?" Summer scrunched her nose at the comment, until she realized what he meant and her eyes bugged out.

"_What_?" she cried shrilly, "No…I…never…" she flushed as the blonde broke into chuckles, "Freddy Jones, that is not funny."

"I beg to differ," he laughed. She gave him an annoyed look, but couldn't fight the smile that pervaded her lips. When he finally managed to control his mirth, he met her eyes, "So? Who were you hanging out with?"

"Oh, I suppose there's no harm in telling you," she sighed, exasperated, "Just some alumnus from Harvard. My mother wanted me to meet with him, as he is offering a scholarship for Ivy League academies, and I could certainly use the tuition money." Freddy's smile seemed to fade slightly.

"You're going to college?" Even he realized how stupid that question sounded. He picked the tomato out of his sandwich, lowering his eyes, "I mean…where are you going?"

"I don't know, yet. My aim used to be Harvard, but now…I'm not sure," Summer slumped, "What about you?"

"I'm a drummer," he stated, as though that were the answer to everything.

"Yeah. But you didn't always want to be."

"I don't know…" Freddy muttered, almost agitatedly, taking a last gulp of his beer, before standing up and heading towards the refrigerator for another one, "My parents wanted me to go to Harvard."

"They did?" Summer said, dumbfounded. He shook his head.

"You don't have to sound so surprised. My parents did have plans for me…that is…until they realized they could no longer afford to send me to college."

"What?"

"Well, you know, there's tuition, and then all those pockets they'd have to line, all those donations they'd have to make, and eventually, all those professors they'd have to pay off; and, well, contrary to whatever you and most everyone else in the world may think, my parents do not have an unlimited supply of money. I know, I got enough lectures on that crap," he muttered, returning to fall back to the floor and setting his new beer bottle on the crate. Summer frowned at it.

"Don't you want to be something? Other than a drummer? Just in case, you know, the whole rock thing doesn't pan out? I mean, growing up, what did you want to be?"

"Nothing," Freddy shrugged, opening the beer and taking a sip. Summer raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Really. So you always wanted to be….nothing. And now, you want to be…nothing? Well…a drummer, but if that doesn't work out, you still have…nothing to be…that's a well planned out life you have there…"

"Okay, fine. There might've been one thing…" Freddy straightened, leaning forward, "But you have to promise not to laugh." Summer put up three fingers.

"Scout's honor."

"Alright…I may have - for a very short period of time - wanted to be…a…um…well…" Freddy stammered, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing about the room, as though looking for some unexpected person hiding in the shadows. He dropped his voice to just below a whisper, "A plumber."

"A…_what_?" Summer exclaimed, mouth dropping and the corners of her lips twitching up.

"You said you wouldn't laugh," Freddy cried.

"I'm not laughing…I'm just…" she shook her head, pressing her lips together in an effort to remain silent as images of Freddy wielding a plunger and wearing oversized, yet, somehow tight fitting pants that descended his backside when he was bent down, flooded her mind. She scrunched her nose, "You really wanted to be a plumber?"

"Look," Freddy snapped, obviously irritated, and for good reason, "I was three, alright, and I was obsessed with my Super Mario Bros. Game. I…thought…that…plumbers…well…uh…I thought they…I thought they actually fought huge ugly turtles and…that they…actually…got to…climb through huge green pipes…and that those pipes actually took them to these other places. Alright?"

"That is…" Summer stuttered, "That's…oh god," she broke into a fit of giggles, covering her wide smile with her hand, "I'm sorry…I really am…that's just…so…cute…oh my god…"

"What about you?" Freddy challenged, annoyed and leering over the crate at Summer, who suddenly choked down her laughter, "What did you want to be when you were a little girl? Or did you just pop out of your mom as a miniature Murphy Brown, with your organizer and business suit?"

"I did not! I did have something…but…well…I…I couldn't," Summer murmured, all at once serious, "It's stupid. And childish, and…no."

"Come on. I told you mine," Freddy pressed, suddenly intrigued. This was new. Summer hadn't always wanted to be little Miss know-it-all perfectionist factotum?

"Well…I suppose…if you promise never to tell anyone."

"Fine. If you promise never to tell anyone I wanted to be a plumber."

Summer smiled at that, pursing her lips together, leaning back, her hands pressing into the carpet for support.

"Alright. I…I wanted to be…" she tucked her chin against her collar bone, whispering, "I wanted to be a cowgirl." It took Freddy a moment to realize what he'd just heard. His eyes went wide, and then his surprised expression quickly gave way to a huge grin.

"A…a…" he snickered, "A cowgirl? With the hat…and boots…and a horse…?"

"Yes," Summer confirmed, indignantly, "I was four years old, and a girl in our neighborhood had a Wild West themed birthday party. All the kids had to wear cowboy style hats, bandanas, and boots, the girls in skirts, the boys in chaps, and we were all given jump rope 'lassos'. They had a pony ride and…well…I fell in love with the romantic idea of living by the law of the gun in the wild untamed desert, with only your horse to keep you company."

"But a cowgirl?"

"At least I didn't idolize a cartoon character!"

"That's a low blow, Summer," Freddy said, mock hurt, "Or should I call you…Cactus Jane?"

"Freddy…"

"Or, Prickly Pear Summer? I like that one…it fits you."

"Oh, you are so impossible!"

"And you…are like a desert rose."

"That's not funny!"

"Oh I went through the desert on a horse with no name…"

"Freddy Jones, cut that out, right now. I mean it!" Summer hissed, and he trailed off, smiling at her.

"Sure thing, Prickly Pear." She shook her head, flushing, and taking another drink of her soda. They settled into a moment of silence, as he watched her shift uncomfortably, eating her sandwich somewhat.

"What were their plans?" she finally questioned, and he furrowed his brow quizzically at her, "I mean…what did your parents want you to be?" He shrugged.

"Hell if I know. Someone they could parade around at the country club," he muttered, then donning a mock tone that Summer supposed was one of his parents, "Yes, this is our son. He goes to Harvard, and we _only _had to donate a library!" Summer covered a smile, "But, you know, then they got my grades and found out what an idiot I was, so that dream was shot."

"You're not an idiot," Summer clucked, "You just don't try. I don't see why you're not more attentive to your studies," she commented, then glancing his way as he lifted the bottle of beer to his mouth for another drink, then looking to the already empty bottle, she rolled her eyes, "But I suppose killing off as many brain cells in one sitting as possible is a great solution to your lack of academic achievement." Freddy looked as though he weren't amused, slamming the bottle back down on the crate and meeting her eyes. He smirked.

"I bet you've never had a drink."

"What?"

"You heard me. You've never even tasted alcohol, have you? Man, Summer, no wonder…"

"No wonder…_what_?" Summer demanded, straightening. He shrugged casually, turning the brown bottle and examining its rim, gazing at her over the top.

"No wonder you're so…um…how should I say this…stuffy. I mean, look at you. Sitting there so stiff, with your Mary Tyler Moore outfit, and goody-two-shoes. Every single one of your teeth is perfectly shiny white, you've probably never even had a cavity in your life, and you've never known what it was like to go a day barefoot, or to dance because _you can_, or to just let loose once in awhile. Admit it, Summer, you have never had a drink," Freddy crossed his arms over his chest, looking impudently over at her. She straightened, shaking her head. Her cheeks were red, and her eyes white.

"I…I have so," she argued, "I…on New Year's Eve last year…I had a glass of champagne." Freddy raised an eyebrow. She licked her lips, "Well…maybe not a glass, but half a glass…" she frowned, "Or…more like a gulp." she folded her hands in her lap and her hair fell about her face, defeated, "Okay, I had a sip, because I mistook it for water." Freddy nodded, triumphant and she shot him a dangerous look, before snatching his beer and bringing it up to her mouth. His eyebrows arched, and he watched her with stun. "Fine," she snapped, "If you really think I'm so _stuffy_. Is this something a stuffy girl would do?" She tipped the bottle back, taking a neat gulp, and nearly coughed it back up, covering her mouth and making a strange face, "God, that tastes awful. How can you actually drink this stuff?" she gasped. Freddy burst into laughter.

"Oh man, Summer…I didn't think you would actually drink it," he reached forward, motioning for the bottle back, and she shook her head. His laughter stopped, and he narrowed his eyes at her curiously, "You want the rest?"

"Yeah," she mumbled, then looking up to meet his eyes with her own alight with determination, she stated more firmly, "Yes, I do." Freddy was hesitant a moment, before finally conceding with a slight nod of his head and a casual shrug.

"Suit yourself," he muttered, stretching. He lifted himself up, gathering their cleared plates, and heading back towards the kitchen to trash them as Summer took a few more timid sips of her beer. Not being a drinker, she immediately felt the effects of the alcohol, and even before the bottle was half-empty, she was starting to feel slightly lightheaded. She placed it on the crate, decidedly abandoning it, as the taste was bitter and really just disgusting. She wanted Freddy to think she could be loose and do outrageous things, but she didn't want to overdo it.

"Allison likes you," she found herself saying. It came out of the blue, from nowhere, but she supposed it had been on her mind. She pulled herself unsteadily to her feet, shakily making her way to the kitchen as well, where Freddy had pulled out another beer and now leaned against the counter as she approached. She stumbled, and he quickly shot forward to catch her, offering his arm as support. She found the tumble hilarious, however, and broke into a fit of giggles. "Sorry," she laughed, meeting his eyes, and the humor died, "She really likes you. And when she sets her mind on liking somebo-person…um…guy…she doesn't really forget until she gets that…um…you." Her brow knitted together as she wondered why everything seemed so foggy.

"Oh," Freddy mouthed, not sure why they were talking about it and trying to remember who Allison was.

He put his beer bottle down on the counter and drew Summer closer to him, so that she could stand straight, and he could hold her stable with both hands, resting them on her shoulders. She seemed to be sorting through something, her eyes narrowed, staring into empty air and her lips pressed together. She suddenly looked up to him through her lashes, and he felt his stomach bottom out. He brought a hand up, to touch her chin lightly with his thumb, then pulled it away, as though scorched by her soft skin. His heart was pounding madly in his chest, and heat was flushing his body. He couldn't be this close to her, he couldn't be this alone with her. She had a boyfriend. She had Kyle, even if he was a bastard, Freddy had to respect that. He couldn't feel this way about her, he couldn't think this way about her, because she was taken. Because she felt all of what Freddy was feeling for her, but for another boy. As much as it hurt, he knew she couldn't feel that way about him. He wasn't good enough. He wasn't smart enough. He wasn't…he wasn't perfect Kyle Emerson, that was for certain.

"It's really awful, actually," Summer continued quietly, lowering her eyes and chewing her bottom lip, "That Allison likes you…"

"Why's that?" Freddy asked carefully, his voice a brusque murmur. Wishing the subject would drop and she would come to her senses and stumble back to the den before he lost control.

"Because she always does this," Summer whimpered, curling her fingers in the hem of Freddy's shirt, "She always takes the boys that I like…" His heart caught, and he shot his eyes up to study her, wondering how much of what she was saying was the alcohol. And then he realized, she was trembling, "But it's not like with Jeff," she went on, "If Allison takes you…then…then I…" her voice broke into a quiver, "It would really hurt…because I don't want to lose you, Freddy Jones."

She looked up into his eyes once more, her own shining with fresh tears, and she seemed so close, so within his reach, so…attainable. Her words hit his ears in a soft, awakening blast, and suddenly he couldn't fight anymore, not with her looking at him like that, not with her saying those things.

"I have to tell you, Summer," Freddy whispered roughly, slipping his hands down to her arms, tightening his grasp, and gently pulling her forward so that her body was adjacent to his, and his lips were close enough to her own that he could feel her warmth emanating from that beautiful full pout he loved and thought about so much, "I'm really not interested in her."

He caught her mouth, and the heat and energy, and emotion, and everything he'd been feeling those past weeks burst from him into that kiss and she nearly fell back from the overwhelming shock of all of it alone. He'd wanted that kiss. He'd needed that kiss. He'd craved it, lusted after it, denied how he'd felt about it, but it had been all that he'd thought of. He had been certain if he could just kiss her once more…than that would be enough, that would satiate him, and he would neither need nor want anything else from her. He should have known better. He was incredibly pleased to find that her lips did indeed still taste the same, and that her body still felt the same against his as he remembered, and her skin was just as warm, soft, and smooth.

He was certain she would push him away, he waited for it, he expected it, and he prepared himself for the pain of the rejection.

It never came.

Summer's hands curled against Freddy's chest, nestling in the folds of his shirt, and she gave in to his mouth's ministrations, parting her own slightly to allow for his tongue to taste the very tip of her lips. Her legs carried her backwards, she was pressed against the wall for a moment, her shoulder blades slamming uncomfortably against the hard plywood. But they moved away from that, brushing against the refrigerator, drawn against the pantry door, and suddenly, with a bang of her heels catching the wooden cupboards, Summer found herself leaned against the counter. Freddy's hands cupped her face, thumbs flush with her jaw line, fingers encompassing her neck, as he deepened the kiss. They broke for a split second, for a short breath, before he reclaimed her mouth once more, his hands falling to slip around her waist, to touch the small of her back and draw her near him for only a moment, before they retreated back to resting on her hips. Then that kiss turned into a multiplicity of desperate ones, one following the other, quick, short, each just as passionate as the next, each just as determined.

He lifted her up, hands around her waist, and placed her on the counter. Her knees straddled his body, and her arms wrapped around his neck as he took her lips into another kiss, and another. He couldn't stop, and she seemed just as willing to continue. There were so many things, so many reasons, that he knew this wasn't supposed to be happening. But they didn't seem as important as feeling her arms about him, her hands on his body, her lips against his own. And then, suddenly, her lips weren't enough. He needed to taste all of her, to feel all of her, to cover her with his kisses, so that she understood. But understood what? He couldn't figure it out, but he knew it had something to do with wanting her. And wanting her to want him.

He broke away from her lips, and found a bare spot of flesh on her neck, pushing her hair, her dark black hair that smelled of her and shampoo, behind her shoulder as he brushed his lips against her skin. She didn't seem to mind the sudden switch of attention, softly murmuring, her breath heavy and warm in his ear. Her fingers curled into claws, digging into his shirt and his shoulder, and she gasped slightly, as he lowered his area of focus to her collar bone, tracing kisses to any pale peach he came across.

"Oh god," Summer whimpered, finally finding the strength to push Freddy back, and meet his eyes; which displayed hurt, confusion, and various other painful and unreadable emotions. His breathing was just as heavy and erratic as hers, his cheeks just as flushed, and she could tell by the thin layer of sweat on his forehead, he was just as feverish as she. "Oh god, Freddy, what are we doing? We can't…we're drunk…" He lowered his eyes. If only she'd done this before the second kiss. He'd been ready for the rejection then, hadn't he? He pulled away, walking into the living room, and sniffing slightly. Summer's hands fell forlorn into her lap, lost without him to hold, feeling empty, and she watched him with careful eyes. A part of her wanted to call him back over, to tangle herself in his arms and kisses again, to hell with everything else. But she knew neither of them had to be thinking straight, right?

"I'll…I'll call you a cab," he managed to murmur. He sounded short of breath, flustered, and angry as well. She swallowed hard. He had every right to be mad at her. Had she led him on? She wasn't sure. Had she taken advantage of him? She reviled the thought. Did he think he'd taken advantage of her? She wondered if he had.

"Alright," she mumbled, as she turned her attention to the tile floor. She waited quietly while he called the cab services, choosing not the notice he had the number seemingly memorized, and mulling over what had passed between them. She brought trembling fingers up to brush her hair from her face, and slipped down from the counter to stand awkwardly, arms crossed rigidly in front of her chest.

Freddy hung the phone up and turned slightly, though avoiding looking Summer's direction. They were silent, and it felt as though there was a great rift between the two. Never had things been so awkward, even after everything that had happened.

"We should go outside and wait for it to get here," he spoke up, clearing his throat, and she nodded, following as he left towards the door.

They stood outside the courtyard, beside the closed gate staring out at the street. Back to back, they were silent, softly breathing, and listening to the breeze shuffle in the air. Summer leaned against the wall and watched Freddy from the corner of her eye as he paced the pavement, kicking at small pebbles on the gravel. She took a deep breath, thoughtlessly running her tongue over her lower lip.

"I…um…I'm sorry," he said, finally, and she took a deep breath.

"It's not your fault."

"No, it is," Freddy muttered, pausing, running his hand over his head, "Summer…I…I kissed you and…"

"We were drunk."

"No," Freddy snapped, turning to finally meet her eyes, "It takes a lot more than a beer and a half to get me drunk. I'm not very good at figuring this kind of thing out," he shook his head, downcast again, "It's just…it's…goddamn it, Summer!" He slumped against the wall next to her , leaning his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. What was he supposed to say? That he couldn't get her out of his mind? That he wanted to kiss her then, and now? That he wanted to hold her in his arms, wanted to be held by her, wanted…things he didn't even know he'd ever wanted? It sounded stupid. He wasn't that kind of person. He could never be so straightforward.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For?"

"For everything. For all our fighting, for all the things I said and didn't mean, for slapping you back at Dewey's, for," she took a deep breath, "Letting you kiss me, for…"

"That's the thing, Summer. You didn't let me, you pushed me away," Freddy argued, "You're probably the first girl that has ever done that."

"You sound happy," Summer snorted lightly. They were quiet again, and Summer looked up to the night sky, "I'm really sorry about all the crap I put you and the rest of the band through these past few weeks. I hadn't meant for things to go like this."

"How did you mean for things to go?"

"I don't know," she murmured, her eyes falling down to study the pavement once more, "I didn't expect such a fuss, I can tell you that. It's just me, after all…"

"Yeah. It's just you," Freddy scoffed, "The most irreplaceable member in the band."

"Hardly," Summer sniffed, "Imagine life without me. Imagine if I'd never come to Horace Green, if I'd been just as socially apt as my brother, and been just as happy to spend my days at public school. Then the band would have formed without me…and then…"

"We wouldn't have gotten on the bill for Battle of the Bands, we would have never had a reason to get Dewey back, and we'd never of put on that totally wicked concert, and School of Rock would have fallen apart long before it ever really got started," Freddy interjected, "Just shut up for a minute, Summer, and think about it. Really think about it without your whiny, 'nobody loves me', bull."

"I have…" Summer whimpered, and he turned suddenly to face her, grabbing her shoulder and pinning her to the wall, her eyes boring into her own.

"No, you haven't!" he cried, "Why aren't you being more stubborn about this? Shit, the Summer Hathaway I know…the Summer Hathaway we all know…is so goddamned overconfident and pompous, that she never would have doubted for one fucking minute…"

"Well maybe that Summer Hathaway was a complete and total phony, and this is the real Summer," she interrupted, voice quavering, she looked away, "God. Oh god…you don't get it. I spent so many years…in that damned public school, and in my neighborhood, going to the same youth center, and the same neighborhood get-togethers with all those same kids…Allison, Jeff, Rachel, they weren't even the tip of the iceberg. They all hated me, little Punky Brewster, they called me. Wearing my colorful clothes, my pigtails, and what with my perky, upbeat personality, I fit the Punky profile. And you know what, I spent hours in the bathroom practicing that smile, hours practicing my manners, practicing my arrogance, my frigid bitchy-ness! So that no one could call me Punky Brewster ever again! Because I wouldn't give them the opportunity to see that I was weak in anyway…that I was susceptible to anything…and…"

"You push people away to protect yourself from getting hurt," Freddy concluded, loosening his grip on her and lowering his eyes, "You let that one girl in, long time ago, the redhead…and she burned you. I get it."

"What…"

"I practically live in the psychiatrist's office, remember?" Freddy smirked, shaking his head solemnly, "It's better to shut down and shut everyone out, rather than leave yourself open to the risk of getting burned again. Jesus Christ, Summer, do you really think we'd do that to you? You've known us how long? Six years! Do they not count for anything?"

"I'm trying, I am…"

"With Kyle," Freddy spat, and Summer sighed, shaking her head. He turned away, leaning back against the wall and staring up at the large house. It was dark, save for the porch light flickering on and off. "People are hard to trust," he whispered, taking a few agonizing breaths, and realizing fully well what he was about to do, "Believe me, I know." She peeked up at him curiously.

"Really?" she retorted, skeptically.

"Yeah, really," he shot back, "Growing up, I didn't exactly have a lot of people around me. I went through so many nursemaids, it was ridiculous. I don't know what it's like to rely on someone to always be there for me, at least, I didn't. Because I never had that. When you woke up from a bad dream, your mother probably came and comforted you, or some shit like that. You know, once when I was five, I had a bad dream. I braved the dark halls, all the way up the stairs to my parents' room. When I went in there, my mom was no where in sight, and my dad was busy having sex with some other woman. When my dad saw me, he yelled at me, told me I didn't belong in there, to get back to my room, to quit bawling like a baby, to suck it up and be tough. That was the last time I ever tried to find someone to comfort me. You see, at least you had the chance to know what it meant to trust someone. I never knew. My entire life was spent building a wall around myself to rival the walls everyone else was building around themselves…and then suddenly I'm in this band, and there's this wacko eccentric guy that's telling me I can make some difference in the world. Me, some brat kid, that nobody cared about…fuck, Summer, you want to start trusting someone, maybe you should start trusting yourself."

Summer pressed her lips together, horrified and uncertain. She could feel Freddy beside her, shaking, trembling with emotion. Perhaps rage, incited by the past memory of his childhood, or even anger directed her way, frustration probably. But she couldn't help but hear her heart break slightly, knowing ever more about the person Freddy Jones was. She wondered why he'd told her all that, as little as it was, for Freddy it was a great deal of personal information to let out.

He, himself, didn't know why he'd felt the need to tell her. It was bothering him, how he looked at her, and saw a lot of similarities between the two of them. A lot of the same broken pieces. They seemed so different on the outside, and yet, they were hurting in all the same ways on the inside.

"I'm sorry if I seem a little…unappreciative," she choked slightly on the word, "Of the friendship everyone so eagerly offers me. And I'm sorry if I'm shutting everyone out…but I…I really don't have control over the situation anymore, anyways. It's in all of your hands, now, isn't it?"

"Yeah, right. Because even if we win Battle of the Bands, that means shit. You might still leave us, because Kyle will still want you too…and you'll do it. Because for some goddamned reason you trust this guy you barely know over the band mates you…"

"Barely know," she supplied, before shaking her head, and concluding, "You don't think he loves me."

"No. I don't know. I think if he says he loves you…and he doesn't mean it…then…then I should have hit him harder. And if he does mean it…then I wish I'd hit him harder, because he's too big a bastard for you…and…you shouldn't apologize for slapping me. And I shouldn't of kissed you," Freddy trailed off, shaking his head, and closing his eyes tightly.

"Why not? Why shouldn't you of kissed me? I know I was drunk…but why? And why did you kiss me if you weren't drunk?" Summer demanded silently.

"Because you have a boyfriend, and I don't know," Freddy replied, "Maybe because…maybe because I wanted to. Maybe Kyle's right. Maybe I am a spoiled rich boy, and I do always want what I can't have. And you, for one, are something I can't have. You're hugely something I can't have."

"Why?" Summer quietly pressed.

"Why? Why do you think?" Freddy cried, "Because you're so much smarter, so much kinder, so much better a person than me, than anyone else I've ever met! Because you actually have a purpose in life, whereas, I have none. Because you're so strong, and perfect, and beautiful, and wholesome, and pure…and I'm not. I'm such a fucking bad person, that I probably only want you now, because you have a boyfriend. That's what a rotten person I am. And maybe it has to do with the fact you want to leave, and I can't have that, so the only thing I can think of to do, being the terrible guy I am, is get you to fall for me. Because I'm so goddamned selfish, that I can't give you up, I don't want to lose you to that bastard, even though you were never even mine."

"Is that all?" Summer whispered solemnly, and Freddy nodded, defeated, "It was harsh."

"It was better than lighting something on fire."

"I don't mean that. Freddy, you don't have to be so hard on yourself," she insisted, "God, how did I delude everyone with this fake me. I'm not perfect…I'm not pure…I'm not kind…I'm not a good person."

"You are to me."

"No. I'm a bitch to you."

"You just treat me the way I deserve to be treated," Freddy shrugged.

"That's not true," Summer cried, exasperated, this time turning to him, "You complain about _me_! Since when are you the dog that's been kicked one too many times!"

"Maybe I always have been. I fuck up everything. Look at this whole mess…you think if I'd kept my mouth shut, we'd be in this? Shit, Summer. Do you think if I'd thought with something outside of my fists, outside of hitting things, that I…that this…fuck, Summer, I have screwed this situation up way more than it should be!"

"No. That would be me," Summer argued softly, she stepped forward instinctively, wrapping her arms around him and he didn't say anything. Maybe it was all the things he was saying, or even perhaps the anger and sorrow she felt coming from him, but for some reason, she just wanted to hold him, "I made this situation. Maybe…I should have just said no." Freddy raised a brow at this, incredulous.

"You mean, you don't want to manage his band?"

"I mean," Summer hissed, "When he asked me on the date. But this is all ridiculous, because it's all been set in motion. There's no use sitting here complaining about it. It doesn't change the fact that it's happening." She sniffed, and Freddy was silent. Her arms were loose about his waist, and she rested her forehead against his chest. He brought a hand up, to trace down her spine. He felt calm in a way he never had before, brushing her hair behind her shoulder and burying his face in her neck, simply breathing her in. It seemed right, being in her arms, as though that were where he belonged. They stood quietly like that for awhile, until Summer spoke again, "The audition is Friday."

"Wouldn't it be great if Kyle's band didn't even make the bill?" Freddy mused, and Summer gave him a reproving glance. "Well, maybe for us."

"They'll make it," she stated firmly, pulling away from him, and he felt the loss of warmth and comfort too quickly, eyes falling to study the ground, "Because…Kyle likes to win."

"You going to go? To the Battle of the Bands, I mean."

"Of course. I have to, don't I? I am the trophy to be won," Summer answered bitterly. Freddy winced, as headlights filled the pathway up to the courtyard, and the yellow cab was clearly in view. He walked slightly behind Summer as she made her way to the car. He crossed over, holding the door shut, as her hand rest on the handle.

"Who are you going to root for?" he asked, a rough whisper in her ear. Her cheeks flushed.

"I can hardly root for anyone, can I?" she replied, "What with being the prize."

"Even in the end, you don't know who you want to manage," he muttered, stepping back. He handed some money over to the cab driver, a little more than was necessary to get Summer home and told the man to keep the change. He watched her slip into the backseat of the yellow car, and turned, heading back up the gravel driveway towards his home as the cab began away.

"Freddy," Summer's voice called after him, and he stopped momentarily, "I broke up with Kyle."

Freddy furrowed his brow, turning abruptly, just in time to see the cab pull off of his street towards the main road. His heart was thudding madly in his chest. She'd broken up with Kyle? Why? And why tell him? And if her and Kyle weren't together anymore, why was this Battle for the Manager thing still on? What was Kyle trying to pull?

* * *

END A/N: If you can't tell, I really love this chapter, because it features the much waited for FULL ON MAKE-OUT SCENE between Freddy and Summer. AND, we got a little insight on Katie's homelife, some Zack/Katie interaction, and a little deeper into Freddy's homelife. He's really got a lot more than just what was mentioned in this chapter going on, just so you know. But I might not go into it...ah, I know, dissapointing.

AnD, Summer broke up with Kyle. Fun, fun. Was there anything I needed to go into? Nope...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. PLEASE REVIEW!

And...THANKS FOR READING!

PEACE...in west philadelphia, born and raised, on the playground is where I spend most of my days...chillin' out, maxin', relaxin' all cool...and all shootin' some b-ball outside of the school... OUT!


	12. All's Fair in Love And War

A/N: Alright, so I got this up a little late, but it's here...

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY REVIEWERS:

IndesElfwine: Yay! Chickens! Queen is a great band, and I completely agree with your opinion. He influenced so many musicians, and not just in rock, but from a variety of different genres.

iamnotachipmunk: I SWEAR, I'm not trying to do anything to you! Yes, Kyle and Austin's forbidden romance can now blossom...j/k (I think...ha!). I'm sure a straight-jacket would look very nice on you...and bubble rooms are fun!

Nanners-77: Yes, Fresh Prince, totally awesome! So I built up the sexual tension nicely, huh? I don't know if you were right either. I hate when my reviews get cut off, it so pisses me the frell off! And yes, she finally broke up with Kyle. I don't know if they'll be another fight between Freddy and him...there wasn't much of a fight before. Really, Freddy just pounded him, because Freddy's awesome like that. Originally I started this out with the Notebook in mind, I wanted it to be similar to that story, but it kind of changed as the characters took over. So, it's kind of ironic you would say that. I'm pretty sure all the fangirls would love this sequel, and then they'd form a "Kill Summer Because She Keeps Hurting Freddy's Feelings" mob, or something like that...and yes, your reviews are getting pretty long. I also noticed, that you never have any criticism in them, as I've seen in some of your reviews to other fanfics, which makes me feel so proud! You are one of the harshest reviewers in this fandom, and I idolize you for it. -I whistled for a cab, and when it came near, the license plate said fresh and it had dice in the mirror...

sweetcaroline: I know all the words too! I sing along when it comes on and my family looks at me funny! So my update didn't come incredibly soon, but it's up.

vaguely specific: YAY! You reviewed twice. This replies going to be long, wyverna might get jealous...I adore Seth Green. He's a really talented comic too. Creative genius is more like it. He did great as the voice of Chris on Family Guy (and various other voices), and have you seen his new show, Robot Chicken? Awesome! Your right, there was no Kyle. But wasn't he there in essence? Speaking bad things in their minds, making them (Freddy especially) feel a little less than he was worse and making him question his motives. Its actually totally cool that you overthought that whole thing, because when my readers do that, it makes me realize things I didn't about my (I say mine, though technically they are owned by Mike White)characters. Yes, even I don't know everything about the characters I'm writing for. Yeah, Freddy's a little frustrating at times, but he has difficulty understanding his feelings. I may or may not explain that later. John Lennon is awesome, he wrote some great songs. I almost said both John Lennon and Paul McCartney, but that was a bit much, so I chose Lennon (who the world did mourn for when he was shot). Your story about the teeny bopper reminded me of this guy at work who listens to R&B and Rap. Now, I don't usually mind them, and I won't say anything about how crappy most of it is, but when I put my music on (albeit, at the time it was the Monkees and the Carpenters), he's all saying "this is gay shit," and crap like that. I was livid. I was like, "dude, your music has a two-week lifespan, and this stuff has been playing on the radio for generations!" He said the same thing about Aerosmith, Lynard Skynard, Supertramp, Blondie...erm...what else did I play...oh, the Eagles. I don't usually bitch about other peoples type of music, because I think it's wrong, but when someone says something about my type of music I will politely point out how truly unoriginal and crappy their style of music is. The record store was supposed to demonstrate that Summer was (deep down) a rocker, not to herself, but to Freddy and that guy at the record store (was his name Greg?) You can't say that not all the bands nowadays aren't as good as the classics. I mean, Greenday is great, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Maroon5, Blink 182. Now, of course, these aren't rock in its purest form, but they're still just as good as the classics. AND WHAT ABOUT NIRVANA! I wouldn't say better than, but just as good, yes. I was raised on the classics myself. I wouldn't mind Seth Green as a present...

Alex: Wow! Zealous! Yup, lots of Freddy/Summer, a little Katie/Zack, and no Kyle. Seems to be the combination that makes most of the readers happy! I love your description of Kyle "EVIL, NASTY, FOUL, RATRINK", ratfink really helped with the imagery, the rest is lost without it...hehe...The Austin/Kyle thing is no problem, and I've bitched about the "one post per chapter" policy myself on occassion. I would invite you to my party...if I was having one...but I'm not. I may go out drinking though. That would be fun. Oh! Maybe I get a karaoke night out of my friends or family. That would be fun. I LOVE LOST TOO! Charlie especially...but Jack is hot. And yes, I did watch the Chipmunks. But I've never had the urge to watch Desperate Housewives. I don't watch a lot of television...

wyverna: I was watching Fresh Prince of Bel-Air when I was typing up the end of the A/N, and the lyrics just came out...Keep in mind, we haven't seen the last of Kyle. Just because she broke up with me, doesn't mean he's gone forever. I don't think I could have worked in Summer kicking Kyle in the "painful parts", as you so humurously put it, but that doesn't mean he hasn't gotten the last of his beatings. He may have, I'm not saying anything, but you know...err...what am I saying? Meh. You'll be my friend? Cool! I have a friend! This review was really short, I should point out, which is why this reply is so short. Sorry...

pancake whackee: You think I effing rock? That's so sweet!I think I fucking rock...but you can go with effing. J/K. It's cool that you connect with Summer so well. And like I said before (to another reviewer) I like when my readers analyze my characters, because it points out traits about them that I didn't see before. Like you did. I didn't really notice how much she thought everything out. Bashfully I admit I took a lot of Summer's character in this story from me, same with Katie. Summer gets her trust issues relating to friends from me, and Katie her shyness covered up with sarcasm. If you think about it, they both push people away...hm...Freddy does too, same with Lawrence. Tomika and Zack don't seem to...and the others...haven't really gotten into them very much, now have I? I hope to see more reviews from you, and your S/N is 'effing' awesome. hehehe...

Parcie05: So long as you don't love them now, I won't shake my head in shame of you. That's flattering, but I think there are a lot of other really good (probably better) stories out there. Phish Food's was really good, and she reviewed my story and mentioned she'll be continuing it...which makes me so happy, which reminds me...I have to say something in the END A/N...the answers are soon, and yes, Summer's mom is a real bitch. She's kind of based on what's her name...from Mommy, Dearest.

BadFaith: I was wondering when you would review again! That would be so cool if you went back and reviewed all those chapters, it would make me so happy! I love Spike/Buffy too! Though I haven't read any of the fics in that fandom, seeing as how I haven't felt the need to, and Spike is so much better (and hotter) on tv.And I'm not so sure about Hermione/Draco, I really don't ship anything for Harry Potter(as I don't read Harry Potter fanfics, or any book fanfics for that matter).Iwould however, not mind seeing Harry paired with Hermione in the actual book, though I thinkRowlings is kind of leaning more towards Ron and Hermione. Sigh. Phillipines? Sounds like fun. A friend of mine is studying abroad in China right now. They're both kind of close to eachother...kind of...sort of...okay, so I don't know, geographically where they lie, but they're both in Asia!I'm sorry the Nintendo and Super Mario Bros. comment upset you, really I am. But you see, I may not be old enough to have lived through the Mario Bros. craze, but I was raised on Classic Nintendo myself. Where everyone else was getting these Sega systems, and Super NES systems, we had my father's shitty ass old game system, because we couldn't afford the new ones. So we had to sit there blowing on the cartridge, jiggling it around in the game, and all that shit for like ten minutes in order to play a game, and we played all the greats. Super Mario Bros. (1,2,and3), Gauntlet (1 and 2), Legend of Zelda (the second one, with the gold cartridge), and lesser known games, Tropical Island (great RPG), and Swords and Serpeants (or whatever it was called) and a few others I can't remember the titles of. Tetris, and Dr. Mario also, my older sister ruled at these games. So that's why that comment was there, it had to do with my growing up more than anything. I let a little of myself slip in there, so I hope you can forgive me. I think the recent craze is more attributed to the fact they're releasing all those old games on gameboy and whatnot (which I think is totally awesome!) But I understand where your coming from. Zack and Katie, well...actually...Katie's character in this story is a lot like me. She's shy, self-conscious, a feminist and activist, and her feelings towards her family...well, I used to have the same feelings, she uses sarcasm to protect herself, isn't very good at displaying emotion...and well, Zack is kind of becoming the type of boy I would go for. He's intelligent, smart, funny, easy to hang with, and kind of a little nerdish. But it's cool if you aren't down with it, so long as you keep reading for something (Summer/Freddy), I'm fine. How nice, that the awards made you think of me. I've never heard of the Streets, maybe I should look them up. Greenday is always great, and SNOOP DOG! I love him, he's one of the few rap artists I can stand! I mean, he's so cool, and he has been around so long. Him, Usher (because the guy is so goddamned hot, has no inhibitions about taking his shirt off, and has a great singing voice), and...well, I'm sure there's more, I just can't think of them now. Fan voting, yeah, that's the way all awards shows are nowadays, which is why I don't watch them. Judging by your last comment, are you a guy? Just wondering...

Whew, that was long.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 12: All's Fair In Love And War

Summer watched the cab turn off of her cul-de-sac and fell into a sitting position on her front porch, the light flickering on and off. Her pack was left lying there on the doorstep, and she took that to mean the keys were inside and she could let herself in. The house was dark, and she assumed her mother and brother were asleep. By morning, the whole event of shoving Summer out the car door and abandoning her on the other side of town would be completely forgotten.

Summer sighed, pulling her pack into her lap and slumping against the door. She thought of Freddy and touched her bottom lip, closing her eyes and relaxing on the cool cement and hard wood. She wouldn't go inside, wouldn't give her mother the satisfaction of seeing her defeated and dependant. Didn't want to hear her mother mock her, or her mother's angry words asking where she'd been and what had taken her so long.

Freddy Jones. She, Summer Hathaway, Horace Green's renowned good girl had just spent the evening with Horace Green's resident bad boy. His words reverberated in her mind. _I probably only want you now because you have a boyfriend._ She wondered how he felt about her knowing she didn't have that boyfriend anymore. She tightened her grasp on her pack. The idea that even for a moment he wanted her, even if it was motivated for the wrong reasons, was oddly unsettling, and strangely, Summer liked it. But it was different than with Kyle. Knowing Kyle wanted her, all she could think about was that someone wanted her, and liked her, and wanted to kiss and hold and be with her. But with Freddy, all she could think about was that _he _wanted her and liked her and wanted to kiss and hold and be with her.

Breaking up with Kyle had been so easy. The words had just fallen from Summer's mouth. _It's over._ And she hadn't known why, at the time, she felt so desperate to end things with him. She was certain it had a lot to do with his lying to School of Rock. But after that evening with Freddy, she realized something. Her thoughts had been on the drummer when she'd said those fatal words. He'd played the greatest role in her break-up with her now ex-boyfriend. She wasn't in love with Kyle, and while one wouldn't expect her to be in love with him after such a short courtship, it would seem she was falling for someone else all together. Oddly enough, someone who couldn't help but get on her nerves, someone who drove her up the wall, someone who was a complete opposite of everything she'd thought she'd wanted in a significant other. But it was the truth. Every moment she spent with Kyle she thought of Freddy. Everything Kyle did she compared to Freddy, and Kyle always seemed to fall short. And near the end, when those words had tumbled from her lips in her blitz of anger, one thing was vividly clear in her mind. Kyle wasn't Freddy.

"I don't feel that way about Freddy," she mumbled, as though saying it aloud would make it logical, clear, and true. But deep inside, she knew better. That evening, with Freddy, punctuated by their awkward make-out session, and more importantly, the quiet moment in his arms waiting for the taxi cab was more than evident of her feelings. She was like so many other girls at Horace Green, drooling over the attractive blonde drummer as though he were nothing more than a face and body. She shook her head, frowning. That wasn't true. She knew a lot more about him than those other girls, and the more he revealed to her, the more he let her into his life, the more she found herself wanting to be with him.

What did it matter now though, Summer wondered. Maybe Freddy was using her. He probably was. He couldn't want her any other way. She drew her knees up to her chest and buried her face, hot with blood and flustering. Tears began down her cheeks and she felt so ashamed.

_You push people away to protect yourself_. God, if that weren't only the half of it. Stop making excuses, she commanded herself. I have known them for six years, longer even. And never have they given me reason to doubt their friendship, never have they betrayed me.

So why do you push them away.

The light inside the living room flickered on and Summer glanced up to the window. Her mother was still up. She settled herself back, rubbing her bare legs and arms furiously in an attempt to warm them up. She had no intentions of going in the house, as her eyes drifted shut and her senses blurred. It was cold, and lonely, dark and unclean, but she would rather stay on the porch the entire night than face her mother.

Several hours later, Pink Floyd's melody rang in Summer's ear, awakening her to the dim sunrise. She fumbled with her pack, procured the tiny phone, flipped it open and pressed it groggily to her ear.

"Erm…'ello…?" she mumbled, trying to straighten. Her hair fell in messy tangles around her face, her muscles were stiff, and her clothes wrinkled and mussed. She felt like hell.

"Summer?" Katie's voice filled her ear, underlined with worry. Summer felt a pang of guilt. She had told the bassist that she would call the night before, but everything had gotten so confused, she'd forgotten, "Where are you? What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," Summer assured her friend, grimacing as she straightened and tried stretching. Her left arm, that she had fallen asleep on, and the leg tucked under her body were pins and needles. She yawned, squinting out at the street. The sky was a pale orange, and the sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the horizon. It was early, that much she could discern.

"You didn't call," Katie pointed out, and Summer nodded, before realizing she had to speak or her friend wouldn't understand her. Whatever the time, it was too early in the morning to talk on the phone.

"I know. I'm sorry. Last night was hectic and I…well…kind of forgot," Summer admitted, swiping at her legs to knock the dirt off and a pebble that had imprinted itself in her skin.

"Gee, thanks. Here I am worried sick about you, and all you did was completely forget about me," Katie muttered cynically, "I really feel the love." Summer shook her head, smirking, as Katie lightened her tone, "So, how did the dinner go?"

"Oh, I just woke up," Summer groaned, "Please don't make me recall that nightmare. It's too early…"

"That bad, huh? What happened? Don't tell me Mr. Alumnus wasn't impressed by the almighty Summer Hathaway, who leaps huge academic achievements in single bounds! What was he expecting? Ghandi?"

"Well, it wasn't so much me that he wasn't impressed with as…my current extra-curricular activities…" Summer murmured, licking her dry lips, "Turns out Ivy League Universities really don't look highly on managing rock bands…"

"You didn't," Katie gasped.

"Oh…I did."

"Oh man," Katie broke into laughter, "I really wish I'd been there! God, just to see his face! Oh…oh man…Summer, that's hilarious…oh man…I mean here's this guy expecting prim and pert little princess of a prep school, and he receives a badass rocker!"

"Since when am I a rocker?"

"Since when are you not?"

Summer sighed, glowering up at her house. Her mother had probably left for work already, and, Summer was relieved to know, her mother always went out the garage. She hefted herself to her feet, and dug through her pack for her keys, opening the front door and stumbling in.

"So you gonna give me the details?" Katie interrupted her silent entrance.

"Huh? What details?"

"About your lovers' spat with your boyfriend?" Katie pressed.

"My who?" Summer scrunched her nose, trying to conjure the image of whatever person Katie was talking about, only for Freddy to fill her mind. She flushed. He had never been her boyfriend, and probably never would be.

"You know, _Kyle_?" Katie hissed, growing impatient.

"Oh," Summer exclaimed, eyes wide. She crept up the stairs, feeling ever more guilty. They'd only been broken up a day. How could she completely forget about him? Freddy, that's how. She smiled softly, touching her hand lightly to the banister, and almost opened her mouth to spill all the details of dinner at the Jones' Estate. But she caught her tongue.

A drunken evening with the band's drummer was hardly something to brag about, Summer told herself. And you don't know what it meant. She was too ashamed of the feelings pestering her, flooding her stomach with annoying butterflies, pervading her thoughts with his face. She couldn't share any of this with Katie. Best friend or not. It was too embarrassing, and it wasn't fair, she realized, to Freddy. Who himself seemed to have no idea what was going on between the two of them. She'd have to talk to him. She felt sick suddenly.

Forget that.

No. There would be no talking to Freddy Jones. He did not talk about his feelings, and Summer did not talk about her feelings with him. Avoiding. That was a better solution. Avoid him like the plague.

"Well…?" Katie broke into her thoughts.

"Huh? Oh…yeah…Kyle…my ex-boyfriend," Summer mumbled, and was overwhelmed with squealing on Katie's end.

"What? Your what? _Ex_-boyfriend! Details! Spill! Now!"

"Oh…okay," Summer stammered, surprised by the fact her friend just addressed her like a drill sergeant. She entered her room, and quietly shut the door before plopping on her bed and falling onto her backside wearily, "Well…you didn't honestly think I could stay with him after he lied to all of you, and then lied to me. He had no right to say those things, and then to presume he knew what the conversation with my mother had been about…and, not to mention, bringing my mother into it!"

"So you ended things with him?" Katie cried, then giggling, "I'm sorry if I seem a little excited…I really don't mean to," then deadpan, "God, this is so awful."

"I'm really upset about this," Summer exclaimed, undoing the buttons of her blouse and searching her room lazily for a change of clothes, "I mean…I really wanted things to…well…I wanted a boyfriend. I admit it. I was in way over my head, and he made me feel special. Oh god, that sounds so stupid. I am so shallow."

"Summer…"

"What? It's the truth. I was dating Kyle because I wanted a boyfriend, and he _was _Mister Popular at school," Summer went on, sitting up and throwing her discarded blouse to the floor, she rolled off the bed and headed towards the closet, sliding it open and flinging her many ensembles to the side, "I just wanted to feel like somebody wanted me…somebody wanted to be around me, because I was me…or something like that."

"Summer. _We _want to be around you, and we want you, because you're you," Katie said carefully. Summer tugged a t-shirt off the hanger, and, holding the phone to her ear with her shoulder, she slipped her arms through the sleeves. She bit her lower lip, not sure what to say to that proclamation, wondering if it were true. Could she let herself believe it?

"Katie…I just…can't…let myself…I can't rely so fully on someone's regards towards me," she stammered.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means…" Summer sighed, pausing to slip the shirt over her head and sort out what she wanted to say, "It means I can't trust anyone completely."

"Not even me," Katie's voice was soft, solemn, almost scared. Summer immediately felt horrible. This was her problem, not Katie's, but she didn't know how to get that point across.

"Katie, I don't really have good luck when it comes to friends, and friendship, and everything…call it trust issues, or whatever you like…but I just…" Summer crossed the room, back towards her bed, falling onto the soft mattress, "I don't want to get hurt."

Katie was silent, and Summer lowered her head, her hair falling in a sprawl about her face. She knew she sounded stupid, whiny even, but she didn't know what else to say or do. She wanted to be able to trust all of her friends blindly, to trust Katie unconditionally, but she couldn't allow herself to do that. And she knew, regrettably, that her good friend wouldn't be able to understand that.

"Getting hurt happens, Summer," Katie began reluctantly, "But it's the price you have to pay, to let yourself feel. You can't feel happy, you can't feel loved, if you don't return it. And you can't feel good without feeling bad as well. It's just how it is. If we've given you any reason to think we'd hurt you…I know that I'm sorry…and I'm not sure about the others, but I think they'd be sorry too."

"It's not that," Summer sighed, "It's just…oh god, forget about it. I can't even begin to explain…it's just…it's not you guys, it's me. I know that sounds like a bad break-up speech, but I can't say anything else, it's all just stupid and complicated, and it has to do with something else entirely. Just forget I said anything…"

"Alright," Katie mumbled hesitantly. She'd never been one to push things, and Summer felt relieved, suddenly loving that about her friend. They were quiet again. "Hey, Tink," Katie started, trying to get the mood back on a pleasant level, "I was thinking of heading to the mall. I need to get some new strings for my guitar, and there's a book Zack said I should check out…so…uh….you want to come hang with me?"

"Um…" Summer flipped a strand of hair from her face, smiling despite what they had only moments before been talking about, "Yeah. Sure. I just need to shower, and maybe eat something."

"Oh, cool. I'll be over in say…an hour and a half?"

"Okay. I'll be ready by then."

"Great. Then you can give me all the gory details about Kyle and that dinner," Katie exclaimed, and Summer flustered, before reminding herself that Katie was not talking about the dinner with Freddy, but rather, the dinner with Mr. Philbur, and there was nothing to get worked up about.

"Right," she piped, "I'll see you then."

"Later."

Closing the phone and flipping it to the end of the bed, Summer fell back on her comfy blanket and thought momentarily about curling up and falling asleep. Never had her bed seemed so inviting, so warm, so…she shook her head and tugged herself up, swaying towards the bathroom. A shower would definitely wake her up, and then clean clothes. She would grab a bite to eat, brush her teeth, scrounge up some money so she didn't spend the afternoon window shopping while Katie bought a bunch of things, and then wait on the curb for her friend. She smiled. That seemed like a good plan.

Freddy. Summer squeezed her eyes shut, rubbing her face. Stop it, she commanded herself. She was determined to go the entire day without thinking about him. More than determined, downright steadfast. She would not think of the annoying, obnoxious - albeit sometimes sweet and very attractive - but, oh so arrogant and jerk-like drummer. She smiled, touching her fingertips to her bottom lip. He was a good kisser. But his kisses were nothing compared to being held tenderly in his arms. She knew a lot of girls that could vouch for Freddy's kissing ability, but she wondered how many could claim to know what it felt like to be gently cradled against his chest.

Bad Summer. That was not, not thinking about Freddy.

She sighed, staring impudently at her pale, disgusted, sickly looking image in the mirror. It was going to be a long day.

0-0-

Katie hopped down the stairs, attempting to pull a shoe on her foot while holding the phone to her ear, the other end of the line ringing. Once, twice, three times…oh, where was he, she thought. She ran into something soft, fleshy, and hard, stumbling back and landing on her bottom gracelessly, before glancing up at her obstacle. She frowned, her brother Scott frowning down at her sprawled out, hopeless form.

"Why don't you watch where you're going?" he demanded. She frowned up at him, shaking her head, as a "hello" buzzed from the other line of the phone. Scott shuffled past, decidedly ignoring his little half-sister, and jogging the rest of the way up the stairs. She could see her older sister, Miranda, watching her callously.

"Are you just going to sit there blocking the stairwell, or what?" the elder girl questioned, flipping a frizzy blonde strand of fried bleached hair over her shoulder.

"Puh-osh…" the voice in Katie's ear droned, "Puh-osh…"

"I'm going, jeez," Katie hissed to her sister, pulling herself up and rubbing her bruised rump. She limped away from the staircase towards the kitchen for food. Shifting the phone to her other ear, she shot a bug-eyed glare Miranda's direction as if to ask 'what?'. The blonde had chosen to follow her, somewhat like a puppy, or more like an annoying insect.

"Who's on the phone?" Miranda asked, "If it's someone for me, don't tell them I'm on the toilet constipated again. That wasn't funny. Jason never called me after that, and he gives me weird looks in the hallways at school now!"

There was a snicker on the other line, "You actually told Jason MacAfee that? Awesome!"

"It's one of _my _friends. Contrary to popular belief, there are people in this world that want to talk to me," Katie hissed, "Do you mind?" then turning her attention to the phone, "Yeah, dude, it was awesome. So what's going on in the Frank-N-Furter residence?"

Miranda rolled her eyes, crossing the room to open the pantry and shift around it for some cereal. She kept a fixated stare on Katie from the corner of her eye, as she poured herself a bowl, and began popping the dry pieces in her mouth, while leaning on the counter, and peering at the unopened newspaper, trying to appear as though she were scanning the headlines. But Katie knew better. Her sister didn't read the newspaper.

"Eh, you know…the same as always," came the chirped response, "My dad went on a rampage about something or the other I did or didn't do, then headed to work. My mom just left to drop baby brother off at soccer practice, and then she's spending the day at the club, and since I have the house to myself, I was thinking of blasting those CDs Dewey leant me and dancing around in my boxers. How's the Brady Bunch, Alice?"

"Sha-na-na-ing and getting happy all the way," Katie muttered, "Running into each other on the stairs and everything."

"What kind of loser name is Frank-N-Furter," Miranda commented, attempting a so-cal attitude, "Isn't he that guy that sits up front in my science class? The real nerdy one with thick glasses…that one that never washes his hair? Doesn't surprise me he's your friend…" then harshly mocking, "Or is he your boyfriend?"

"What's your sister talking about?"

"Like I know," Katie muttered, then glowering at Miranda, in a straight faced expression, she monotonously slicked, "That's exactly who it is. And you are so right, I am totally hot for Frank-N-Furter. The British accent turns me on…it turns me way on. And the whole transvestite thing," she puckered her lips at her disgusted sister, "Oh, yeah." There was uncontrolled laughter roaring in her ear and she couldn't help but smirk as Miranda shot her a dangerous look.

"You are such a bitch," Miranda growled, then shaking her head in confusion, "And that loser in my science class doesn't have a British accent."

"And you are such an idiot," Katie muttered, turning her attention back to the phone, breathing dramatically heavy, and jokingly gasping, "Zack, I'm having an uncultured moment! Losing…IQ…points…as…we…speak…"

"Zack?" Miranda's eyes bugged out, "As in Zack Mooneyham? You're talking to Zack Mooneyham?"

Katie narrowed her eyes to threatening slits. The fact her sister knew Zack was not a big deal, because most everyone at Horace Green knew him. It was the tone in her sister's voice that made her heart thud. That was the unmistakable squeal of Miranda speaking the name of a crush. It was not possible. Her blonde, bitch of an older sister could not have a crush on Zack. Miss Queen of the Pep Squad, Miss Extra-credit Assignment, Miss Straight-laced of the Preparatory Academy, could not have a crush on Katie's Zack. Well, he didn't exactly belong to her, but he was her friend, and he was definitely more hers than Miranda's.

"No, Zack Miller," Katie muttered sarcastically, trying to hide the harsh bitterness in her voice.

"The one man rock band?" Zack questioned in Katie's ear, having no idea what was going on. Katie snickered, shaking her head, running a hand through her hair. Miranda was staring at her blatantly now, and it was making her nervous. Please don't ask about Zack, please don't ask about Zack, she silently pleaded.

"Since when are you friends with anyone cool?" Miranda finally asked, examining her fingernails and chipped pink polish. Katie rolled her eyes.

"I'm not," she replied coyly, "This is Zack. He's a loser. Just like me."

"Hey!" Zack cried, mock hurt, "I can hear you, you know. And I do have feelings…"

"Shut up, Zack Attack," Katie laughed, and Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Alright, fine. Since when are you friends with Zack?" she pressed. Katie shook her head, moving towards the fridge for a drink. She pulled the orange juice out and headed towards the cupboard, "Tell me," Miranda persisted, in a low hiss, "Since when does Zack Mooneyham give a damn you exist?"

Katie lost the grip on the glass she'd grabbed, and it shattered to the ground. Her heart pounded madly in her chest, and tears sprung to her eyes. She turned to her sister, trying to fight back the anger and hurt wallowing in her chest and head, trying to think of a snide comeback, but her mind was swimming. He did care she existed. He'd said so himself. He didn't, however, care Miranda existed. That's right, she told herself, just keep going with that.

"Katie? Is everything okay? What's going on?" Zack's urgently concerned voice flooded the phone, "Katie? Katie, answer me!"

Taking a few steadying breaths, Katie whispered, "I'm fine, Zack."

"Shit, don't scare me like that," Zack sighed.

"You freak. What's your problem?" Miranda screeched, after getting over the initial shock of the breaking glass, "Jeez. You better clean that up before mom sees it! Those are her favorite dishes, you know! And you'll only upset her…"

"I've got it, alright?" Katie hissed, "Just go away!"

"This is my home, I don't have to go anywhere," Miranda responded snidely.

"So what…it's my home too," Katie muttered, searching beneath the sink for the dustpan, pushing her cell phone against her ear with her shoulder. Zack was silent, and she tried to discern if he were attempting to listen to her conversation with Miranda, or if he was trying to make himself scarce and not nosily pay attention to her conversation with Miranda. She didn't care, either way. She could feel him, on the other end of the line, and that was enough for her.

"It's more my home than yours," Miranda stated smugly, and Katie glanced wild-eyed over her shoulder, "After all," she continued, drawing her words out carefully so as to take advantage of the full affect of their painful meaning from the younger girl, "I have both my mom _and dad _here. And everybody loves me. I'm not unwanted, like you. I'm not a mistake."

Katie lowered her eyes. I will not cry. I will not cry. I will not cry. She took a deep breath, before clasping the dustpan and making her way to the shattered glass. She forced her face to stone, etched with an impassive frown. Her chest was convulsing, her lungs constricting, and it felt as though her throat were closed off. She wasn't getting air. I will not cry, she chanted, as she always did, and it always worked, I will not cry.

"Hey, Posh, what do you want to do today?" Zack's voice interrupted her thoughts, "I mean, we have band practice later, right…? But the rest of the day…we have to do something. I'm bored! Oh, did you ever hear from Summer."

"Yeah, that's actually why I called," Katie managed to choke out, and she saw Miranda turn up her nose and leave the room. The kitchen seemed brighter somehow, and her airway felt clear. She could breathe again, "I had to call Summer this morning. Can you believe she forgot that she was supposed to call me last night? But from the sound of things, the night was a little hellish. But…big news!"

"Better be the good kind…"

"Oh, it's the best kind! Summer broke up with Kyle," she exclaimed, then waited with a broad grin for Zack's reaction.

"What?" he gawked.

"Isn't it great?"

"But…when…how…_what_? She broke up with him?" Zack cried, "I mean…sheesh…then I guess this whole Battle of the Bands thing is off, huh?"

"Oh! I don't know," Katie murmured, "I probably should have asked about that…"

"Katie! Have you lost sight of what's important?"

"No," Katie moaned, then curiously, "What's important?" Zack gave an exasperated gasp.

"Beating Kyle at Battle of the Bands!" he shouted, "Jeez, Katie…"

"Oh…I'm sorry. For some odd reason, I had it in my head that keeping Summer as a friend was what was important. Silly me," Katie muttered sarcastically, tossing the broken pieces of glass into the trash can and heading to return the dustpan under the sink.

"Yeah…well…don't let it happen again," Zack joked, then in a serious tone, "It would be a major disappointment if I wasn't able to cream Kyle in the Battle of the Bands competition. Freddy and me are seriously ready to take those jerks on"

"You and Freddy are way too competitive," Katie commented, "Don't forget the music, alright? It's not about winning, it's about putting on a really great show."

"_And_ sticking it to the Barber Boys," Zack insisted. Then, almost as a last minute thought, "Oh...and getting our manager back, too." Katie rolled her eyes, retrieving the OJ and rummaging for another glass. She poured herself some juice and placed the carton back into the fridge.

"I'm going to the mall with Summer," Katie said briskly, "Want to come?"

"Uh…I…no," Zack stammered, "I mean…you and her will be talking girl stuff…and you know…I'd rather not…"

"We're hitting the music store, and you can invite Freddy."

"I'll see if he wants to go," Zack piped excitedly, his tone quickly changing, "I want to get new strings for my guitar…oooh, a new songbook…and then there's that Fender…"

"Good-_bye_, Zack," Katie interrupted.

"Oh, yeah…see ya', Posh."

Katie hung the cell phone up, tucking it securely in her pocket, and drinking her juice. She turned and nearly ran into the hulking form of a tall, middle-aged, blonde man. He frowned down at her and she ducked her chin to her collar bone.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"Out," she answered quietly, "With friends." He snorted lightly, walking past into the kitchen, searching for breakfast.

"Have you done your chores?"

"I'll do them later," Katie whispered.

"Do them now. You know the rules…if you're going to live in this house then…" he trailed off as Katie's mother whisked into the kitchen.

"Oh, Katie, where are you going?" she asked.

"Out," Katie murmured, feeling very much like a broken record, "With friends."

"Oh, who?" the woman peered owlishly at Katie, and while she made no comment about her daughter "lacking a social life", her expression was evident that she was thinking that exact thing.

"Summer…Zack and Freddy might come too."

"Summer…Summer…you mean, Summer Hathaway?" her mother mulled, looking curiously at her. Katie nodded. "Oh. She's such a sweet girl. Remember, Hal, we met her at the Open House last year. She was in Miranda's math class…didn't she tutor Lydia for a short while?"

"Yeah, mom," Katie muttered.

"I didn't know you and Summer were friends," her mother went on, "You should have her over for dinner, she could get to know Miranda and Lydia. All of you girls could hang out and…"

"Pass, mom," Katie shook her head, quickly lying, "Summer wouldn't be into it, anyways. Her mom doesn't like her hanging out at friends' houses. She's real overprotective…pretty anal about those things."

"Oh, yes, I remember her mother too. I'm not surprised. But who are these boys? Zack…Freddy…"

"Zack Mooneyham. Freddy Jones. What's with the twenty questions?"

"You don't go out often. Can't I ask? Oh, Zack Mooneyham…he's a nice young man. I had brunch with his father the other day…Freddy Jones…erm…why does that sound familiar? Oh, Freddy _Jones_. Of the Jones family…"

"That would explain his last name, mom."

"Don't give your mother lip."

"Freddy, now he's a handsome young man," her mother wiggled an eyebrow, as though she knew a secret of Katie's. Katie shook her head, rolling her eyes, "Very attractive."

"Didn't Lydia mention something about him," Hal commented and Katie's mother nodded.

"She does have a huge thing for him, doesn't she?"

"So does every other girl at Horace Green," Katie muttered, taking a sip of her orange juice and trying to suppress the urge to run from her house, drive away, and never return. She thought about hiding out at Zack's house. He wouldn't mind, Mrs. Mooneyham loved her, and Katie simply adored Zack's baby brother, "Doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, come on, Kitty Kat, she's your sister," her mother hissed, playfully slapping her arm. Katie cringed at the baby name her mother often used under the assumption they were bonding or getting along like a normal family should. Hal looked disgusted as well. That was something Katie and him shared, even if they had no DNA in common. He could barely humor her mother's pretending that everything was fine as well. "Lydia has grown to be such a pretty girl," her mother went on, ignoring the looks, or simply not noticing them, "I'm sure she's much better a catch then any of the other girls who have their crushes on this little Freddy boy."

"You're right, mother. She's perfect for him. I hope she catches Freddy's attention, they date, and she lives as happily ever after as any of the other girls Freddy has taken out," Katie inflected cynically.

"Is that a hint of jealousy, I detect?" her mother chuckled, then taking her daughter's unwilling arm, "Is there something between you and this Freddy? Oh, sweetheart, do you have a crush on him?" Katie's eyes flew wide and she pulled away mortified.

"Mom," she gasped, "Don't make me sick! Freddy…oh god," she moaned, "He's Freddy." She shook her head, "Maybe when I was twelve…and naïve…but…oh, ugh!" She shook her head again, "Mom, you are so clueless. I'm going. I have to go pick Summer up."

"Alright. Good-bye," her mother chirruped, and as her daughter was leaving, "Oh, Katie, your chores, did you -"

The door slammed shut and Katie jogged down the walkway to her car. She slipped inside and sighed, leaning back into her seat and rubbing her hands over her face. Her phone rang, at her side and she fumbled to flip it open and grunt a greeting.

"It's too bad I didn't take that course in Neanderthal when it was offered," Zack teased in response, then in a more lighthearted serious tone, "Freddy's in. We'll meet you girls at the mall."

"Cool," Katie conceded.

"He was a little hard to convince. He nearly backed out until I mentioned you and Summer were coming…it was weird. I would have thought Summer being there would put him out of going. I wonder what's up with him. He's been acting really strange lately. You think maybe I should have told him that Summer broke up with Kyle?"

"No," Katie mumbled, "I probably shouldn't even have told you…it is Summer's news, it's a personal thing. I'll see you guys at the mall."

"Yeah. See ya'…uh…hey, Katie, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"You know, what your sister said…"

"So, you _were _listening."

"She wasn't exactly discreet," Zack sighed, "If it ever becomes too much…you know…the parents, the siblings…I'm here. I just…you know…want you to know that."

"I do," Katie said softly, smiling and feeling a blush creep to her cheeks.

"We're all here, actually," Zack went on quietly, "I know it sounds stupid but…if they don't want to be your family, I'll be your family."

Katie grinned, taking a small moment to let his words sink in. Just having him say those kinds of things, just hearing his voice, was enough to wash away everything that had happened that morning, the night before, her entire life. She wanted to tell him that. To tell him he made everything better just being there, just by being. But she couldn't. The shy side of her took over with her sarcasm in overdrive.

"Okay. So…since we're family and all, can I tease you about how corny that sounded?" Katie joked, and Zack snickered lightly.

"Good-_bye_, Katie."

"Bye, bye, bro."

"Shut up…"

Katie tucked her phone into her back pocket, and tugged out her car keys. She rounded away from her house, and began down the road the same route she'd come to memorize after several morning and afternoon trips. She was surprised to find Summer waiting on the curb, but said nothing as the petite young woman slipped into the passenger seat beside her.

From appearance, Katie guessed Summer had rushed from the Hathaway house. She had quickly towel dried her hair, leaving it damp on her shoulders, and simply tugged on a faded pair of jeans and a wrinkled baby-tee. She hadn't even bothered with the light make-up that usually adorned her face. Katie tightened her grasp on the wheel. The break-up with Kyle must have been harder on Summer then she'd let on.

"How's it going, Tink?" Katie finally broke the silence, and Summer shrugged, a small, distant smile, finding its way to her face.

"Oh, fine," she answered, "You?"

"Great," Katie mouthed, pulling onto the main road and pulling to a stop at a red light. She tapped the wheel, licked her lips, and said, "Freddy and Zack are meeting us there."

"_What?"_ Summer squeaked, "I can't!"

"Huh?" Katie turned, stunned by the strong reaction, "Why not? It's just Zack and Freddy…they're cool…they'll be fine. It'll just be us. No talk about all this 'Battle of the Bands' nonsense, none of that. We'll just hang out, like old times…"

"I just…I…well," Summer sputtered, then folding her hands in her lap, she concentrated on the taillight of the car in front of them, her lips pursed, "You tricked me," she accused.

"I…_what_? No…Summer…I talked to Zack before leaving the house…I mentioned we were going to the mall…and I thought it would be cool if he came and kicked it with us and…" Katie flustered, "Well…the only way he would come is if Freddy was there too, so he wasn't the only boy, and…" she trailed off, hands sweating. Now was the time, she realized, to put into effect their best friend relationship. She took a deep breath. Here goes nothing, "I like Zack."

There was a long silence, in which Summer's brow slowly drew together, trying to comprehend the statement, and her lips did a wonderfully amusing twitching act. Then her eyes widened, and her whole body tensed. She turned to Katie, as though trying to decide something, then an awkward, almost confused, smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"You…you…" but the words didn't seem capable of forming. Katie nodded stiffly, scared, glancing to Summer, trying to decipher the other girl's reaction. All of a sudden, a great squeal escaped Summer's throat. "Oh my god, Katie!" she cried, "You like Zack! As in…_like_, like? As in…_crush _like?" Katie nodded confirmation, meekly. Another squeal of excitement followed, in which Summer thrust her arms around Katie's neck, making driving a slight difficult, and the car veered somewhat to the right.

"Summer…Summer!" Katie squeaked, "I love you too, but could you not get us killed?" Summer pulled away, falling giddily back into her seat, her face red.

"I'm sorry…I'm just…wow…does he know?"

"Does he know?" Katie screeched, incredulous, "Of course _not_!"

"Why? You two are perfect for each other," Summer insisted, straightening, and pushing wild loose black strands of hair from her face. Katie flustered despite herself. She wouldn't say they were perfect for each other, but well in-tune with the nature of one another. Suddenly Summer's eyes widened once more, as an epiphany struck her, "So you invited Zack, because you like him?"

Katie took a deep breath, and nodded. That broad smile, and overzealous excitement of Summer's was infectious, Katie decided, as she herself was toothily grinning.

"But you can't tell him," Katie commanded, glancing to her friend worriedly, "And…you know…no playing matchmaker. No interfering…nothing! Please. And you can't tell anyone…" she paused a moment, taking another deep breath, "You're the only person that knows." Summer peered at her in wonderment. This was their first official 'best friend' secret. She nodded.

"Of course, Katie, I would never tell anybody," she agreed. Katie looked a great deal relieved.

"Great. Thanks, Tink."

"Best friends, right?" Summer pointed out, and Katie's smile widened somewhat as she nodded. Then a thought struck the smaller girl, "Zack is…well…Zack is really dense."

"That was…blunt…and kind of…mean," Katie stated, confused and stunned by the odd remark.

"Well," Summer persisted, a little exasperated, "What if he…never…picks up that you like him? Do you plan on telling him?" Katie flushed, pulling into the mall parking lot. She tapped the wheel nervously.

"No. I don't," she admitted sheepishly, pulling into a parking space, "I guess…I guess if he never figures it out, then…then…I'll invest in cats and die an old spinster."

"Oh, Katie."

"You think I'm being dramatic, but it's the truth."

"You? Being dramatic? Not possible," Summer muttered, and Katie killed the engine, turning to her friend.

"I'm serious, Summer. Zack's the first guy who's ever made me feel this way. I mean…hasn't a guy ever made you feel all sick and gushy and girly and lightheaded inside? Wait…what am I saying? You had Kyle."

"And he did make me feel all those things," Summer put in, then frowning, "But I really wouldn't want you to feel for Zack what I felt for Kyle."

"You going to tell me what that was? We never really had the chance to talk about your…ahem….feelings for Mister Emerson."

Summer ran her fingers through her hair, looking out the window and sighing.

"I felt something, that's for certain," Summer elucidated, "You know that feeling they describe in the movies? About being swept off your feet, feeling sky high, wanting to see and be with him all the time?" Katie nodded reluctantly. "Well, I didn't feel all those things. So I kept telling myself…it's not like in the movies. There's a reason those things are movies, and that they're labeled fiction…but…then…I started to feel those things for…" Summer shook her head, "It doesn't matter. Someone just made me realize that…well…the movies were right when it came to that feeling. It's something you're supposed to have, and I didn't have that for Kyle."

"Are you telling me there's a new boy that's caught your eye?" Katie smirked, "Tell me who."

"It's not important. It's nothing," Summer insisted, undoing her seatbelt and gripping the door handle, "It's nothing," she repeated, "It's completely ridiculous. It's a never-going-to-happen kind of…thing."

"Summer," Katie groaned, but the other girl was already stepping out of the car, so she sighed and followed suit. They began towards the mall side-by-side, "I wonder if the boys are here yet."

"Are you sure Fre…they…mind me coming?" Summer questioned nervously. Katie scrunched her nose, then slinked an arm around her friend's shoulders.

"I know Freddy has been a serious ass lately," she confided, "And he did pick you to zero in on with his bully tactics. But somehow I think his grump mood has more to do with something else entirely, and that you just got targeted because of recent bad decisions. "

"He's picking on me because I may possibly leave the band," Summer concluded and Katie nodded, then skeptically, "But he's not really angry at me, he's angry about something else."

"Sort of…yeah, I guess we'll go with that."

"Even though he is completely angry with me?" Summer pressed, "Seemingly nearly to the point of hating my guts?

"Okay, yeah, he is angry with you," Katie sighed, defeated, "But I bet he'll warm up a bit more, once he knows you broke up with Kyle."

"He does know," Summer muttered subconsciously, before slapping a hand over her mouth in realization, she hadn't meant to say that. Katie pulled away, a slight surprised.

"He does?" she questioned. Summer took a deep breath, winding through her head what to say. She had decided before leaving the house that nothing that had passed between Freddy and herself the night before would be revealed that day, or ever. That she would forget about it completely, and that she would never speak a word of it to anyone, including Katie. But now…now she would have to explain herself, and possibly talk about her dinner/make-out session with Freddy.

"Well…yes," Summer murmured.

"Oh, that would explain why he didn't mind coming to hang out with us," Katie said, cheerfully, "I should call Zack, find out where they are."

Summer nodded, waiting as her friend turned to make the phone call before breathing a sigh of relief. I'm not supposed to be thinking about Freddy, she thought, but now he's here. How am I not supposed to think about him, if he's going to be right in front of me! Or around me…or near me…or whatever!

You couldn't possibly of not thought about him the entire day, anyways, she sighed, admit it, you're happy he's going to be here. But don't make the mistake of assuming there's anything between the two of you. He just came because…because….why did he come?

Katie hung the phone up, slipping it back in her pocket, and looking bemusedly at Summer, "Three guesses as to where they are."

Momentary pause to think.

"Food court," they said in unison, rolling their eyes. Katie linked arms with Summer and they marched together into the large building.

Both girls were not heavy shoppers, and did not traverse the mall as often as other members of the School of Rock band. But they did, however, know the way to that large spacious nook surrounded by small vending counters. The area wafted with the aroma of Chinese food, hamburgers, pizza, corndogs, Philly cheese steak, ice cream, and was booming with the sounds of a little less than a hundred people ranging in age from sixty to newborn crammed in close quarters. Chairs scrapped, people yelled, a disgusting variety of fatty concoctions were shoved into wide open mouths, and the chatter never ceased. Summer cringed at the disorganization and lack of healthy eating, Katie shied from the noisy crowd of strange people. They chose to stand by the outer rim of the food court, near the Hotdog On A Stick counter where an annoyed looking young man in the usual red, yellow, and blue uniform stared disinterestedly their direction, while they scanned the crowd for the two boys.

"There they are," Katie called, pointedly looking through the crowd, and beginning to stumble her way towards the bar seats.

Summer's eyes quickly shot the direction Katie had indicated, and caught sight of a particular blonde spinning in a barstool. She blushed, her heart catching on its beat, and she felt her stomach drop. I can't do this, she realized. I can't face him. Not this way. Not when I don't know how I feel about him…or how he feels about me. He was grinning lopsidedly, chatting with Zack. They laughed about something, and he stopped spinning when Katie approached them. They looked to her with greeting, and then the boys' eyes trailed to where Summer stood, hands clasped in front of her, lips pursed, evidently scared. Katie and Zack began towards her, and for a moment, it was just Freddy and her, holding one another's gaze. He broke the connection, then, looking down and lifting himself up, trudging behind their two friends.

"Where did you want to go first?" Zack asked Katie, as they all stood semi-circle. Freddy took a stance behind the two, somewhat awkward, scratching his forehead. Summer studied her feet.

"Let's just walk," Katie suggested, "Hit whatever pops out at us first." They nodded agreement and began away from the noisy food court. Summer walked close to Katie, who was beside Zack. Freddy trailed behind.

"So…Summer," Zack started, "Um…how you been?"

"Fine," Summer answered carefully, looking perplexedly to Zack. That soft concern in his voice suggested he knew something. A guilty look crossed Katie's face, and Summer rolled her eyes. "You told him," she accused.

"Well…" Katie began, shamefaced, "Yeah."

"Told me what?" Zack asked, barely capable of holding the lie, and looking meekly towards Freddy, who didn't appear confused at all, but slightly disturbed. Summer shook her head.

"That I broke up with Kyle," she seethed, "Since we all know…"

"We all know?" Zack exclaimed, now blatantly staring wide-eyed at Freddy, as though preparing for some adverse side-effect of the news.

"Yes, we all know," Katie whispered roughly to the lead guitarist and he seemed embarrassed.

"Oh," he mouthed.

"Since we all know," Summer began again, clearing her throat rather loudly, "Can we not make a big deal about it?" They nodded and fell silent, walking aimlessly.

"Why did you break up with him?" Freddy asked, breaking the quiet with his first words to Summer since they'd arrived. She flushed, fighting the jitters and butterflies racing in her veins and stomach. It's just Freddy, she told herself, nothing to get worked up about. But she knew how wrong that thought was. He was everything to get worked up about.

"He lied to all of you," she stammered, though she'd practiced this excuse to the point she nearly believed that it was the entire truth, rather than just partial, herself. Then daring a peek back to the drummer, "And he lied to me about your fight. He led me to believe that you had started it for some ridiculous reason or the other, and frankly, I'm appalled at myself for being so gullible."

"Yeah, because we all know, Freddy has _never_ started a fight for no reason whatsoever," Zack teased, and they all chuckled nervously. He was hoping to lighten the mood, but it only managed to point out how tense it really was.

"So you broke up with him because of us," Freddy continued. Summer paused, fighting the urge to blurt out, 'well, it was more because of you', then nodded, waiting for some snide or cruel comment to follow. Freddy simply shrugged, running a hand over the back of his neck, conceding, "That's cool." Everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Um…there's the record store…let's go browse," Katie suggested, crossing towards the small inlet. The other's followed and they immediately made their ways for the rock section, spreading out over the A all the way to the Z racks.

Katie stood near the end of the A-D's, picking up CDs that interested her, glancing them over and putting them back. Zack scanned the small aisle, standing back to have a full view of the entire rack. His lips were moving as though he were talking to himself, but nothing he seemed to be saying was audible.

Summer made her way to the back aisle, glancing over the few CDs available in the X-Y-Z area. She pondered on how few rock bands had names beginning with those letters. It was better, she decided, then thinking of Freddy. She chewed her inner cheek. But then, even as she thought that, she was thinking of him. She sighed, thankful that the high CD racks effectively blocked her view of her friends browsing the other aisles and slipped down to squat near the floor, her forehead resting in the palm of her hand.

Why was everything so complicated, Summer wondered. It was Kyle's fault. It had to be. Never had she thought such wild and lustful thoughts before she went out with Kyle. Before then, Freddy had been Freddy. Never had he been a boy capable of making out and dating. Of course she knew that he spent time with other girls, and she found that all very tasteless of him. But she'd chosen to be oblivious to that little fact. It was his personal life, and who was she to deliberate over it? Well…I am his friend, she told herself, I should care He did leave them, the band, often to spend time with young ladies. He did flirt quite a great deal, and she had called him on occasion for practice confirmation only for his phone to be answered by various groggy young women with seductive voices. She'd always hung up immediately on those occasions, and chose to assume that she'd dialed the wrong number, even if it was on speed dial. She'd always given him the benefit of the doubt. He didn't deserve it, she knew.

Maybe you were jealous all those times, Summer mused. Because you would never be one of those girls. He would never want you.

She bit into her tongue, a little too fast, a little too hard, and a metallic warm oozed into her mouth. She winced from the sudden stinging pain.

I never displayed any indications of jealousy, she silently argued, I could care less what girls he'd been with.

You wanted to be somebody a boy wanted. You wanted to be somebody Freddy wanted. Kyle asked you out, you said yes because you would never be someone Freddy wanted. So you gave in to somebody.

No. It was never about Freddy. I was never jealous of those girls, Summer told herself. I was never one of those girls.

But you are. And you were. Pining over the heartthrob blonde drummer, just like every other girl at Horace Green. Giving in to the spoiled rich boy, giving him exactly what he wants. You're both using each other. He's using you, you're using him.

I wouldn't do that, Summer tried convincing herself, but she was already trembling with the fear of uncertainty. Was it true? Had she used him? And if she'd used him…was she using all of them? But for what?

Suddenly, Summer was aware, she wasn't alone in that aisle anymore. The hair on her arms stood on end, as did the bristles on her neck. The warm pervading presence of another body, another form, another person invaded her senses. She glanced at this intruder in her once private domain, and frowned. Freddy stood slackly at the edge of the aisle examining the back of an old Yardbirds' CD. He deftly watched her from the corner of his eye. She folded her arms in her lap and focused her attention on the CD rack in front of her. Hm…Frank Zappa had a new album out? Nope, just a compilation of his old work.

"Did you get home okay?" Freddy finally asked. He had been itching to talk, and Summer fought the urge to flee. It was too much, being so near him, so alone with him. She thought of the night before, and her eyes clouded over. She could barely breath.

"Evidently. Thank you," she answered quietly, stiffly. Plastic cracked against plastic, as he slammed the CD back into place and turned abruptly to stare down at her.

"Summer, I…" he began, and she stood suddenly, grabbing the Zappa CD and marching, flustered, from the aisle.

"Katie, Zack, you should see this," she stutteringly called, all at once feeling completely awful as she left Freddy standing behind with his mouth hanging uselessly open. Their two companions startled, coming to where she was. Zack took the CD and gave it a once over before shrugging and handing it off to Katie.

"Have it," he explained before walking back to the aisles and his beloved world of rock music.

Katie raised an eyebrow, studying her friend with a careful gaze. Something was wrong, she discerned. Summer was shaking, subtly, her eyes were wide, and her face white. She was standing too rigid, too uncomfortably for things to be alright. And her eyes glistened, as though tears threatened to spill from them. Katie glanced over towards the direction Summer had come from and was surprised to find Freddy standing at the end of the last aisle watching them. He had his arms crossed over his chest, and was glaring more than anything, at Summer's back. Something was definitely wrong. But she didn't know what. And knowing her friends, she knew neither would tell her. So she slipped an arm over Summer's shoulder, leading her back towards the CD racks and chatting amiably about the albums she'd found.

Freddy shook his head, turning back to lean against the rack. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. What was he doing? What was he thinking? He shouldn't have come.

_Want to go to the mall?_ Zack had asked and _No_ had been Freddy's immediate answer. The mall equaled long, boring hours of endless shops. Why the hell Zack was asking him to go to the mall was beyond him. It made no sense as boys didn't usually just 'go to the mall'. Not to mention, Freddy had drank a little…well…a little for him, a party and a half for non-drinkers, a short while before. He'd polished off five more bottles of beer and then half a bottle of tequila through the middle of the night to morning. He'd needed a drink, but settled for a fountain.

_Alright, that's cool_, Zack had conceded, being stubborn had never been his strong suit, _I'll just tell Katie her and Summer are on their own. I'll call them now. Later, dude._

_Summer's going_, Freddy had blurted out before he could catch himself. And Zack had confirmed it. Without taking the moment to consider why, Freddy had found himself quickly agreeing that he could use a little time out of the house and the mall seemed like a good a place as any to hang. So there he was, at the mall. Because Summer was going.

But why? Why? Why did it matter if Summer was going to be there?

Because…because…Freddy frowned. He didn't want to think about the answer. But he knew it. He knew it very well. He wanted to talk to her. That was it. But about what?

Making out.

He scowled. That had been a mistake.

But god, it was a good mistake. It was a really good mistake. It was the kind one would want to make repeatedly.

Summer had been drunk, Freddy realized sickly. A bottle of beer was hardly anything, half a bottle of beer was next to nothing, but of course, prim, proper, perfect Summer Hathaway could get drunk off a sip of beer. And only drunk, would she ever allow him to kiss her more than once. But even then, even completely wasted, she was still able to push him away. She could never be drunk enough to want him entirely. And she shouldn't want him. He'd known she was lightheaded and a bit tipsy. He'd taken advantage of it.

_You'd find her at a weak moment, and take advantage of that._ Freddy hated how much truth was actually in that statement. He hated to admit that Kyle was right. That he did go after things, merely because he didn't want anyone to have what he didn't. That he took advantage of girls. That he was a spoiled rich brat. And that all and all, he was a really bad person. He toyed with peoples' emotions, used people, for his own pleasure. How was Summer any different?

She made him feel.

She would smile at him, and for a moment, he was fooled into thinking that somebody - that _she _- cared about him. She would touch him, brush against his arm, slip her hand into his out of fear or need to be near someone, and he would feel wanted. And that night, the night before, when he had kissed her, it wasn't the same feeling he always had when he kissed a girl. He didn't feel as though he were a bad person, and that she was worse for letting him kiss her. It wasn't as he'd always imagined kissing the pristine Summer Hathaway to be, either. The thing that was dark inside of him, that thing that lurked in his heart, in his head, in his soul, did not creep out from within him into her, as he'd always thought it would. It did not seep into her clean, pure form and ruin her completely and utterly. She was not destroyed. It was almost the exact opposite. It was as though that goodness, that light that shined inside her eyes, had come into him, overwhelming him and that darkness. Perhaps, even beginning to purify him. For her, he thought….for her he could be that good boy.

Then she pushed him away. It hurt so much, feeling her hands press against his chest and force him off of her. He was rejected, suddenly washed with loneliness, and being unwanted. He was discarded, he was trash. He was still the bad boy, and she was still the good girl with her good boy. It was like he hadn't even touched her. He hadn't tainted her, as he always thought he would. He had simply further tainted himself.

But nothing compared that night, he knew, to when she'd slipped her arms around him, taking his trembling, broken form into her warm hold. And he felt it wasn't out of sympathy or pity that she'd taken him into her arms, as he would have normally felt in that situation. Rather, he felt…from her…he felt…loved.

Yes. Summer was different. She was so different, it scared him. Because those feelings she gave him, that she inspired within him, were so new, so alien, that he couldn't even comprehend them. They scared him witless, and he lost all airs of confidence, all of his charm, and it was all quickly replaced with anger and frustration because he was confused. Why did he feel so insecure, and so _different _around her? God, he wished he knew.

Or maybe he did know, and that too, scared him.

He needed to talk to her. He needed to ask her so many things. Even as he didn't know what they were. He needed answers from her. Answers he was afraid of.

And he wanted more than anything to just kiss her again.

"Freddy?" Zack's voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up, seeing his three friends standing at the entry way of the store, "You done?"

"Yeah," Freddy murmured, straightening, and shaking his head slightly. He caught sight of Summer, standing silently beside Katie, as though the taller girl was a centre of strength for the smaller. As though she offered some soft of protection from…from what? He smirked, casually running a hand through his hair and falling into step behind the three other teens. Why, him, of course.

They went to a clothing store next, where Katie and Summer made fun of the new fashions, involving short mini-skirts that neither girl would be caught dead in, and skimpy halter tops that Katie jokingly held up to Zack's chest. The guitarist blushed, noticeably, but put on a good show of humoring her. Then they entered the music store, where Freddy attempted to say something to Summer, who put on a grand display of crossing the store, accidentally knocking over a few music stands domino style in her rush, latched onto Katie's arm and dragged her back to the counter to point out some rubber picks. After hitting a few more stores, and Freddy making three more futile attempts at speaking with Summer, he got the hint. She didn't want to talk.

And nothing pissed him off more. She could not treat him this way. There was no way in hell he was going to let her turn her back on him. She couldn't make him feel the way he did, and then leave him with no explanation, no understanding, with nothing. _You deserve more than you're giving yourself_. That's what Dewey had said, and the old rocker had yet to lead Freddy or any of the other band members astray. He decided he deserved, at the very least, acknowledgement.

The book store was next on their list. Zack was eager to show Katie a book by Jimmy Buffett, and Summer, being the scholar she was, quickly skipped off, disappearing amongst the many shelves. Freddy was out-of-sorts in the store. Books were not his thing. But as he wandered aimlessly about, he caught Summer in between the science-fiction and the fantasy, sitting on the floor, several paperbacks littered about her. She had one opened in her lap and was quietly reading. He took a moment, to admire how endearingly beautiful she seemed. This was her element, after all.

Her hair had dried, and now fell wisp-like about her face. She sat cross legged, and her sneaker-ed foot tapped un-rhythmically against the floor to an unheard beat. Her tongue pressed against her upper lip, and she brought a hand up to delicately push the hair behind her ear, then flip the page. Freddy leaned against the book shelf, and folded his arms in front of him. She was in her own little world, and guiltily he knew, he had her trapped. He cleared his throat, and she looked up shocked. In a hasty shuffle to her feet, the book she was reading fluttered to the ground, and she made to run off, but found, her only exit was past him. She glanced behind her at the wall of books, like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, and it was ironic, how moments ago she had been welcome in the company of those books only for them to suddenly betray her, becoming her prison.

"You're avoiding me," Freddy accused, and she looked down, defeated.

"Of course not…" she stammered, but she'd never been a great liar, and even now, her words faltered in credibility.

"Why won't you talk to me?" he demanded roughly. She shook her head.

"I have to find Katie," she quickly whispered, making to move past.

He caught a hold of her, and roughly pushed her, backside, against the book shelf, pinning her there with his right hand firmly on her waist, the other clutching the shelf beside her ear. He caught her lips with his own, having no idea as to what he was doing, moving on instinct, carnal desire alone. He flushed, aware how warm his body felt against hers.

She didn't move at first, which made him feel worse. He was taking advantage of her again. He was the bad boy, after all. Taking what he wanted with no regard to anyone else's feelings. But, god, did he want her to return that want, that desire, that kiss.

And then her small hands came up to cup his cheeks, pulling him closer down to her, deepening their intimacy. His heart leapt flippantly, and suddenly, he felt alive. A spark of hope flickered inside of him, where the emptiness of despondency had long since taken over, that perhaps he did deserve a great deal more than he was giving himself. Perhaps he did deserve a good girl. Daringly, he considered, perhaps he deserved her.

With regret, he pulled away suddenly, his other hand falling to rest on her waist, his forehead pressing against her own. His eyes were squeezed shut.

"Why are you doing this to me?" she whimpered, "What are _we _doing?" He didn't have an answer, so he simply pulled her closer, briefly brushing his lips against hers once more. Those questions, that he didn't know, lay on his tongue. He couldn't voice them, couldn't even figure out what they were. He wanted to say something, resting his cheek against her shoulder, but there was nothing to say. Nothing he could sort out in his mind. He was holding her, breathing her in once more, she was in his arms, there was no room for understanding and comprehension. For a moment, he let himself believe entirely, that he had her.

And then Summer's hands came to touch his face, pulling it up to look into her eyes. Something was in there, behind their soft brown glow. But he didn't know what it was, and because of that he was afraid. And then her fingers slipped around his neck, and laced there, drawing him down. She stood on tiptoe, her lips touching his, tentatively at first. It was a shy movement, so careful and powerful, that it was too slow for him to bare. So, he wrapped his arms about her waist, pulling her into him, and her own arms tangled around his neck.

His heart was pounding erratically in his chest. Their mouths were working against one another, pushing, pressing, nipping, testing, exploring. She tightened her grasp on him, he dragged her until she was braced against his chest, and was relying solely on him for balance, lest she fall over. It was too much, he felt as though he would burst with that outpour of emotion rushing from her small frame, he had to break away. Both were breathless, gasping in air, both feverish and lightheaded. He relaxed her against the bookshelf once more, laying his head in her neck and hair and shoulder. Her hands fell to grip his upper arms, curled in the fabric, and she lay her head back, licking her lips. They tasted of salt and him.

"What do you want from me?" she quietly asked, when she'd finally caught her breath.

"I wish I knew," he answered honestly, a hot blast on her skin. She shuddered, tracing the contour of his muscle from the bottom of his ear down his neck to where it disappeared into the collar of his shirt, with her finger. "What do _you _want from _me_?"

"I'm too scared to want to know," she whispered, "I can't face you…not like this…not with the possibilities…"

"So you are avoiding me."

"Yes."

Freddy pulled away gently, leaning against the bookshelf opposite her, and staring directly into her eyes. She chewed her lower lip, folding her now empty arms over her stomach, as tears squeezed from her lids and trekked down her cheeks, leaving twin stain trails behind.

"What are you afraid of, Summer?" he questioned harshly, barely able to hide the bitter in his voice. He could take a few unkind guesses as to what her answer would be.

"Hurting you." That was not one of them.

His eyes fell to the ground and, for a minute, he forgot to breath. But then, it wasn't as though he could, with the sudden pressure against his chest. What did she mean by that? Nobody was afraid of hurting him. Nobody thought they could hurt him. Nobody cared if they hurt him.

"What if what I think I feel…is completely wrong?" Summer went on softly, "What if…what if my intentions are not what I think they are? That they're actually really awful? What if…"

"You screw up?" he looked back up to meet her eyes and it was her turn to look down.

"What if I already have?"

Freddy drew in his breath, focusing wholly on her.

"Summer, we care…" he paused, took another deep breath, and a step forward, his voice dropping to just below a whisper, "_I _care too much about you for any of that to matter. You're driving me insane, Summer, and I don't know why. You're in my head, you're all I can think about and…goddamn it." He lost it, the nerve, as he fell back against the bookshelf. He was certain he knew what to say, but then he'd just…lost it. "You know, it's ironic," she peered curiously up at him, "You're the first person I've ever wanted to say how I really feel to…and I don't know how."

"I know what you mean," Summer sighed, "Except it's not that I don't know how…it's that I don't know if I can." She lowered her head, looking up at him through her lashes, her voice breaking into a soft quaver, "Am I like those other girls? The ones that like you and don't even know you…the ones you play…the ones that throw themselves at you…I don't want to be like them…I don't…"

"You're not, Summer," he cried, reaching out to pull her forward into his arms once more. She buried her face in his chest, hot tears seeping through his shirt. He rubbed her back soothingly, brushing her hair from her face, "You're not like them. Not to me, you're not."

"Are we…are we…using each other?" she choked out and something similar to fear gripped Freddy's heart. He trailed his fingers along her spine, deep in thought.

"I don't know, Summer…I don't know."

* * *

A/N: Uh huh...more making out on Summer/Freddy's part. Fun. From what I know of kissing and making out, once you start, it's kind of hard to stop. Because of this chapter, I've put 'book store' on my 'Places To Make-Out At' list. Yeah...

In this chapter: We got to see why Summer broke up with Kyle and her thoughts on the matter, Freddy's feelings on the make-out session with Summer at his house, Katie/Zack interaction, and...oh, a little Summer/Katie friendship interaction (if it seems a little weird, keep in mind, they are each other's first official best friends), and...I can't think of anything else.

Does anyone know who the Yardbirds are? I was looking for some band names that would feet in the X-Y-Z section, and I found the Yardbirds. I was like, "Dude, they're bandname is so frelling awesome, I have to reference them in this chapter". So...I did. I think I'll look them up, see if I know any of their songs or if they have any good songs out...hm...and Frank Zappa! His daughters have the weirdest names. Moon Unit and Diva Zappa. Sheesh...and Alice Cooper, his daugher's name is Calico. I should really stop watching so much VH1...

One last thing: Phish Food is writing a really awesome fanfic entitled "Should I Stay or Should I Go". Really it was the inspiration that started this story, and I kind of took a few leaves from her book when it came to the characterization of Freddy, Summer, Dewey (sort of), a little on Katie and Zack as well. But anyways. She mentioned to me (in a review) that she planned on finishing the story (which totally has me psyched). If you haven't read it, I really recommend you do (because it's soooo totally awesome and powerful), and I think she may need a little more motivation to finish it. So could you all go review her story for me and bug her to finish it? Tell her SD sent you, if you want, but just beg and plead with her to hurry up and update it!

Oh, and you know what, because it got deleted with my story the first time: sweetcaroline's "Mr. & Mrs. Jones". Read it. Review it. That's all I'm saying to that matter.

Okay, before I get in trouble for long A/N. Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. Please _**REVIEW**_!

And, Thanks for Reading, ya'll. Peace and nachos! This rocker is out.


	13. All's Fair in Love And War pt 2

A/N: Here goes nothing...

REVIEWERS!

closetwriter: Okay...so this update was no sooner than usual...but...I'm glad you liked the last chapter, I thought it was sweet too. I wish I was on Spring Break now...

wyverna: You're not a writing person? God, I could write forever. But I can relate to the reviewing inability. I never know what to say, so my reviews usually turn into babble-fests. Which is probably why I don't mind when my reviewers babble to me about things outside of my story, because I do the same thing. I do feel honored, everyday. I actually looked up the Yardbirds, and it turns out they're actually innovators in the rock world, and the mentioned that Jimmy Page and Eric Clapton (this is the meaning I got from what was written on the site) were both a part of the band, before moving on to their other things. Yeah, I probably could have mentioned those band names. And yes, Apple is an odd name for a child. What's with celebrities giving their children weird names. It's so funny. And then you have like Ozzy, whose children have the most normal of names. YES! Another F/S fic. I will definitely read it as soon as it's posted, and review it (of course)! Just get it up soon! Constant Interruptions...an interesting title...and _we_ have a new pope? I don't have a pope. I'm atheist! But I'm very happy for the new pope. Just a little uncertain of the whole "voting in a pope" thing...anyways...

IndesElfwine: I seriosuly was getting really sad the other day, when it wasn't allowing reviews. I was like, "why isn't anyone reviewing? do they all hate me...? sniffles..." I have self-esteem issues... Anyways...yes, Katie's sis likes Zack...the stupid bitch...and yes, Zack does like Katie. But as more than a friend? I wonder...

iamnotachipmunk: Yeah, no Austin. I don't when...or if...he'll show up again before this story ends...hm...maybe for you he might make one more appearance. What's there to dislike about Katie? She had _no _personality whatsoever in the movie (four WHOLE lines). So she's not really someone you can feel..._anything_ towards. But I guess it's so hard to like any of the characterizations of Katie out there...and then there's all those Katie/Freddy fics that just turn my stomach (no offense to anyone who writes/reads/likes this pairing!) Everyone's always telling me I should feel honored, and you know what, I do. I feel honored because you all read and review so loyally, and you're all such totally sweet people.

radiancex: I'll cry when it's over too. Because I'm like that. Every story I write takes so much of me, and I really fall in love with the characters I use (every one of them, protagonist, antagonist). ANDI've read books where I've cried when they ended, because they were just so wonderful.Oh, don't be envious. I don't doubt you can write just as good, if not better than me. And wait no more, it's here!

Nanners-77: Yes, I idolize you for it. I'm starting to review alittle like you (because you're my reviewing hero), but I'm afraid I'm a little too harsh sometimes. I can be that way. I feel guilty too, because I don't like to discourage any writer of any level of ability. You know what...I think I have told someone they were the worst writer I'd ever seen...but god, the story was horrible. Tense changes within sentences...I shudder at the memory. Freddy's gonna start acting weird soon too...because they're both weird. They both have so much shit going on, from their parents and people at school...teenage life sucks. I only have a year left, YAY ME! The Notebook was a good movie...even if I did know the ending before I even watched it...but I still loved it. What's his name, something Gosling is a damn good actor, and he's kind of cute. I hope you're feeling better...poor sick baby...and a 65 on a science test isn't so bad. But then, I barely passed the last science class I took so...heheh...yay for the boy I had a crush on forcing me to copy his homework!

sweetcaroline: Well, I was bumping people's stories and I figured...hell, why not. I love her story, and I bumped it last time, and it got deleted, post it again! Kill two birds with one stone...except I don't condone killing birds with stones...it's a waste of a good stone, that you could throw at people. What am I talking about? Ah...yes...

Alex: I'm pretty satisfied with that chapter myself. It was wonderful! Anyhooo...yes, I did watch the Chipmunks. Not regularly, school and whatnot, and never having the schedule right. I liked the episode where they were all doing this scavanger hunt, and the Chipettes and Chipmunks were all against eachother, and then that dude was all messing with Brittany, and Alvin came to help her (sort of), and the Chipettes broke out singing "My Boyfriends Back" (great song!)! Oh, and when the Chipmunks sang "Bad to the Bone", another great song. Oh, and I loved the movie "Chipmunks Around the World"! And the Chipmunk Christmas Movie "All I Want for Christmas Is My Two-Front-Teeth"! YAY ALVIN! And Theodore, I loved Theodore! He was sooooo cute with his girlfriend, Eleni, right? And Janet and Simon were so cute...awwww...and I loved the episodes where they did the origins of the Chipmunks and the origins of the Chipettes. I have never been karaoking, but my parents did but me a karaoke machine one Christmas. It was cheap and doesn't work anymore (when I needed to use it, the damn microphone wouldn't work, I was soooooo pissed!) I'm a nerd too! Sometimes I'm a dork though. My cousin tells me I'm special!

Parcie05: We were all stupid kids at one point in time. I wouldn't kill you...the Backstreet Boys on the other hand...they must die. That's so totally nice of you. I love being flattered, it makes me blush and feel all googly. Summer and Freddy, their characters are just MADE for each other. Total opposites, and you know, there's a fine line between love and hate. Actually, I have to get started on my book (or revising my book...it's already finishing, it just needs more fleshing out...I did it for a creative writing assignment. It was supposed to be a short story...it was forty pages long.) Yes, I have a book. It's a fantasy, there's a little romance, and it's all finished, I just need to rewrite it with more detail. Right now, it's just a skeleton. Well, I never start a story not knowing how it's going to end, and unfortunately, this one is reaching its climax...but there may be another SoR fic in the future.

That's everybody! Nothing from vaguely specific? And whatever happened to SwimmerKitti? I miss their reviews...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 13: All's Fair In Love And War Part 2

Katie picked up a book, glanced over the kernel on the back, and shoved it once more on the shelf. She sighed, glancing at Zack, who was looking over a songbook, forming the chords from one of the featured songs on an invisible guitar in the air. She sighed.

It had been a Tuesday when Katie had realized she had more-than-friend feelings for Zack. She remembered, because it had been the most awful Tuesday of her entire life and she'd wrote lengthily about it in her journal until her hand cramped. School was drab, despicable, and depressing, every event forever ingrained in her mind, only to fade into a hazy blur when that one moment…that one wonderfully blissful moment, happened.

After a particularly brutal game of dodge ball in gym, where every girl in the class seemed to decide it would be a nice change of pace to aim every ball at Katie rather than ignore her all together, she had come to fall against her locker. She had leaned her bruised forehead against the blue metal in an attempt to soothe the sore with its natural cool. A group of girls, from her gym class had passed her, snickering their regards and calling out doggedly to her. Then Zack, with his laid-back attitude and cute shy boy personality had appeared. The girls had immediately fallen hush. If they weren't drooling over one of the many boy athletes or Freddy Jones, it was Zack. Of course, he was oblivious to this attention. Dense, as Summer had put it. But that was just another one of his charms. He must have sensed what had happened at gym, because he had leaned against the locker beside Katie and whispered 'You want me to mess them up for you? I know they're girls, but with the way I fight, they'll probably kick my ass anyways.' It had made her smile. He'd always known how to make her smile, no matter what the situation. No one else did.

And at the same time, she had blushed. No boy had ever made her blush like that before. From embarrassment, maybe, mortification even. Anger, as well. But never from sheer lightheaded giddiness. He had been close to her, and his mouth had been millimeters from her ear. His words had been warm. That was how she would always remember him, probably. Warm.

Then the girls across the hall had broke into murmurs. A little too loudly, one had commented on Zack's closeness to Katie. She had flushed, but he had simply shrugged it off, as he always did, slinking an arm over Katie's shoulders and saying jokingly 'Well, babe, let's go get lunch. Then we can make-out in the janitor's closet, huh?' This had made the girls' faces contort with disgust and horror. And Katie had easily caught on to the game, replying 'Sure thing, sweet buns, but we really need to talk about this dominatrix thing…' Zack hadn't been able to keep a straight face, hearing that in Katie's usual monotone, and he broke into laughter, as the girls turned and marched away, noses in the air and looking completely appalled. Then Zack had led Katie towards the cafeteria, but not before pecking her neatly on the cheek, a last bit of show for the fleeing girls.

Katie had fallen when he'd whispered in her ear. But the kiss had sealed the deal. It hadn't been a real "kiss", and it hadn't been the first time Zack had casually brushed his lips against her skin. It had just never felt so different.

"Do you think going from an A-minor chord to a C would sound good in an outro?" Zack spoke up, breaking their twenty minutes of complete silence. Katie looked puzzled a moment, by the question, as he stared unblinkingly at her. Then she shook her head, shrugging, and tracing her fingers over the spine of another book, one on the Red Hot Chili Peppers.

"How should I know?" she mumbled, "You're the music genius, I'm just background noise." He rolled his eyes, putting the songbook back and sighing. He placed his hands on his hips and looked around the store briefly, almost groggily.

"Where'd Summer and Freddy take off to?"

"I don't know," Katie answered, following his bird like head movements and scanning the store. She hadn't even realized they'd disappeared. When she couldn't locate the two missing teens, she simply shrugged again, turning back to Zack, "They're in here somewhere. They wouldn't of taken off without us."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Zack muttered, falling back against the shelf and fingering another songbook, fingers itching to grab it out.

"You start writing new material, for the Battle of the Bands?" Katie questioned nonchalantly. She tried to appear interested in another book, but she stared at him from the corner of her eye. He was fidgeting now, pulling out a book to flip its pages aimlessly.

"A lot of crap, yeah," he answered bitterly, shoving the book back, "I can't seem to get anything good out. It all sounds like whiny emo crap, or…" he shuddered, disgustingly spitting out, "Pop rock."

"Bowling for Soup?"

"Not even…try Yellowcard."

"Oh," she gave him a sympathetic smile, patting his shoulder softly. He shook his head, frowning. She smirked, lightly punching his shoulder, before running her fingers through her hair and chuckling, "If you could just get it up to Goo Goo Dolls' level we'll be good." He glowered at her, though there was no real anger present, "Why are you in such a funk, anyways?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, slumping against the shelves, and sliding partway down to a squat, "Lack of inspiration, maybe. You'd think with Summer wanting to leave, and everyone walking on pins and needles, I'd have _tons_ of inspiration. But I have nothing…I'm like a dry well…someone shoot me and end this creative-less misery."

"Don't be so drastic, Cobain, it's not the end of the world," Katie clucked, leaning beside him, "You'll get your groove back, sooner or later, and Billy Joel our way to the top."

"Thanks," he mumbled, "Doesn't change the fact I can't write any good music whatsoever."

"Maybe I could take a whack at writing a song," Katie suggested, smiling slyly. He looked up doubtfully to her. She spun away from the shelf, turning to face him with a bright grin, "It can't be that hard, right? What will I write a song about…?" She was thoughtful a moment, before starting in an off-tune hum. Zack shook his head, smirking up at her. And then words began to form, just as off-key as her hum, "Oh, I woke up this morning to a bright sunny day…seemed kind of weird that everything was…um…going my way…and…then I…"

"Okay, that's enough," Zack cried, jumping to his feet, shaking his head, and waving his hands in the air, before grabbing a hold of Katie and clamping one over her mouth, "Goddamn, Katie! _Never, _I repeat, _never_ write a song!" She was still, looking to him with a smile in her eyes, and he slowly slid the hand away from her mouth, shaking his head still and snickering lightly. He fell silent, realizing with uncertain discontent, how closely he held her, and that his hand was in the small of her back. She lowered her eyes, and he flustered, pulling away and turning to look about the store again, stammering, "Maybe we should go find Summer and Freddy."

"Yeah, I guess…" Katie mumbled, finding herself missing his touch. They began out of the aisle, trudging, and for two people in search, their eyes were innocuously on the ground.

"Katie!" a voice shouted, and they both startled, looking up in surprise, "Zack?" Outside of the store, huddled together and staring in with wide eyes and wider smiles, were the rest of the girls in the band, as well as Billy. Alicia had been the one to shout, and Michelle was waving somewhat. Katie grinned and Zack nodded with a thin smile, as they crossed over to greet their friends.

"What are you guys doing here?" Eleni asked.

"Just shopping," Katie shrugged, "You guys?"

"Shopping," a few of the girls answered in uncoordinated unison. They broke into giggles.

"We're not…disturbing you guys, are we?" Tomika questioned quietly, easily noticing the soft pink that lay across the two teens' cheeks. But the others laughed at, what they felt was, the absurdity of the inquiry.

"Disturbing them?" Billy cried, "Why would we be disturbing them? You're too considerate for your own good, Tomika. They love us, and they'll love our company, won't they?"

"Huh?" Zack gaped, "What are you talking about, man."

"Well, obviously. We're all at the mall," Billy explained, "We can shop together, until band practice, of course. I need to get you two into something more fashionable…"

"There's Freddy," Marta spoke up, perking slightly. The others turned to see the drummer making his way from the shelves, hands shoved in his pockets. Summer was following slowly behind, arms crossed over her chest. They both wore the looks of those guilty of a crime, and if any of their friends had looked closely, they might have noticed the slight color in those teens' cheeks as well.

"Hey guys, what's going on?" Freddy mumbled, eyes fixated on a spot of tile floor. Katie slipped an arm over Summer's shoulders, as everyone peered curiously at her, a few too stunned to speak. What was the jilting band manager doing there, anyways?

"You okay?" Katie whispered in her friend's ear. Summer pressed her lips together, her eyes briefly trialing to the drummer, and then nodding carefully, "What happened?"

"Nothing," Summer whispered, forcing a smile, and then turning her attention to the band. Freddy was uncomfortably listening to the others chat, and she noticed a brief glance exchanged between him and Marta. Summer braced herself, feeling her body trembling with fear, and sudden self-doubt. She didn't ponder why she was suddenly aware of the boy's movements and interactions with the others, rather, she wondered why there'd appeared to be a degree of heat between that glance. Why had they looked to one another that way? She frowned, trying to shake those thoughts. Marta was, after all, openly staring at Freddy. He was probably just shooting her a quizzical look.

It seemed the group had decided to continue through the mall, to a few clothing stores, and suddenly they were on the move. They browsed various shopping inlets, and Summer was confounded to find, that the band harbored no ill-will towards her throughout the shopping trip. Somewhere between Wet Seal and Pac Sun, Freddy and Zack somehow managed to slip off, confiding only in Katie their whereabouts and promising to meet back up at the food court later. And even as the other girls excitedly tried on new clothes, and browsed the racks with exuberance, Katie and Summer wished they were with the two AWOL boys. Shopping, clothes shopping especially, just wasn't their thing.

"Summer, you would look absolutely adorable in this," Michelle called, as her and Eleni dragged the reluctant manager to a mirror, holding a slinky red and light pink dress up in front of her.

"Oh wow, gorgeous even," Alicia commented, stopping to admire the garment. Summer blushed, shaking her head firmly.

"I could never wear anything this revealing," she sputtered, pushing it away, "Spaghetti straps and short skirts really aren't flattering on me. Practicality, that's what I look for in clothes…"

"Oh, come on," Michelle pressed, then raising an eyebrow suggestively, "I bet Kyle wouldn't mind the spaghetti straps and short skirt." The other band members perked slightly at the mention of their new rival, glancing interestedly towards the girls huddled about the mirror. Summer looked down, frowning, taking the dress away and moving towards its origin rack, hanging it back up.

"It wouldn't matter what he minded," she said quietly, taking a deep breath and looking up as pleasantly as she could muster to her friends, "We're no longer a couple." There were a few gasps, and some of the girls quickly came to her side.

"No longer a couple?" Tomika sighed, "Was it because of all this manager nonsense?"

"Sort of," Summer relinquished.

"Well, that jackass doesn't know how good he had it," Alicia soothed, smoothing Summer's hair from her face, "And if you want, I can put the smack down on him for breaking it off with you." A few eager "me too's" flitted through the band members.

"There's no need for that," Summer assured them, a little taken aback by their loyalty and willingness to stick up for her that she probably didn't deserve, but a slight hurt that they were convinced he'd broken up with her, "He didn't break anything off with me." She held her breath, waiting for the reaction that would follow that announcement. After a moment, to decipher what she meant, a great roar of approval shook through the store and she was suddenly clapped over the shoulders with hugs.

"Hallelujah!" Alicia cried.

"_Thank _you," Michelle squealed.

"Oh, girl," Tomika clucked, "We are so happy!"

"It took you long enough," Marta muttered.

"I think," Billy called above the rest, and they fell hush as he stepped forward, grabbing Summer's shoulders and turning her back towards the mirror, "Dropping that…well…serious hunk of a jerk is all the more reason to buy the dress." Summer glanced at her reflection as Billy raised the dress back up to her shoulders. It was a pretty garment. She glanced at the price tag. It was on sale, too. Katie slunk to her side, whispering in her ear.

"I think even that guy who you think you have no chance with couldn't resist seeing you in this." And that seemed to end the debate.

After a few more stops, the group made their way to the food court for some lunch. Summer grasped her purchase to her, peeking inside curiously at it. Her mother would kill her for buying the gaudy thing. _A waste of money_, the older woman would exclaim. That was alright, though. Summer knew, she just wouldn't show it to her mother.

"There are so many cute guys out there," Eleni was saying, "It's amazing so many of us are single."

"Tell me about it," Michelle rolled her eyes, "And now you're back on the single wagon with the rest of us, huh, Summer? Oh well…"

"I seriously think Frankie is working up the courage to finally ask you out," Billy announced, touching Michelle's arm lightly and smiling knowingly.

"Oh," she sighed, shaking her head, "I sincerely hope you're right. I can't keep waiting for him, not with all the boys constantly pestering me for dates."

"Four boys this past month," Eleni verified and the others shook their heads in stun. How did she do it?

"Well, if things work out, I may not be single for long," Tomika commented quietly, sipping at her glass of fruit punch. The others turned to look at her in surprise.

"Say what?" Alicia squealed, "Who? What? When…? _Huh_?"

"I can't give you the details, I'm sorry. I don't want to get my hopes up," Tomika shrugged it off, shaking her head, "And I don't want to say anything too soon."

"I didn't even know you had a boy in mind," Eleni cried.

"Well…I have for awhile…actually. It's no big deal. I'm probably just assuming…but after the other night and…the problem is he's so shy. And dating is really not one of his priorities. And his parents are weird, so…" she trailed off, sighing, "But a girl can dream, right?"

"Tomika," Michelle said with a cluck of her tongue, "Any guy you have your sights on who can't get off his rump and ask you out is seriously missing a few brain cells!"

"It's not all his fault," Tomika reasoned, "I could make a move, too. Say something, tell him how I feel. We spent all Friday night talking and…" she clamped a hand over her mouth, "I mean…"

"Friday night!" Alicia screeched excitedly, "Friday night you spent talking with…Lawrence? Oh my god, Tomika! Lawrence! You like Lawrence!"

"Oh, Tomika, how come I've never seen it before," Katie swooned, "Always talking about books, always chatting in the hallways…you guys are perfect for each other. And he definitely likes you. He doesn't put reading on hold for just anyone, you know!"

"I…I…" Tomika stammered, flustered, then drawing her brow together, "You think?"

"If he's not into you, then he has to be gay," Billy assured her, "Which he's not. So he has to be into you."

"I like that logic," Tomika grinned and burst into a fit of giggles.

"Oh, you guys will be so cute together," Summer sighed and the others quickly agreed.

"So, Michelle has Frankie. Tomika has Lawrence. Hm…" Eleni mused, "Anyone else have any secret crushes brewing?" Marta made a squeaking noise, and they all turned to her. She shook her head, blushing, and poking at her cup of lemonade, making a great deal of motion when popping a french-fry in her mouth.

"Marta," Michelle cooed, "Spill, now."

"I'm just…it's nothing. No one," Marta shook her head firmly, "No. Me, crush…no."

"Oh, but you do," Summer noted, "I've seen you, always drawing hearts on your papers, and daydreaming…"

"Oooo," Alicia hummed, draping an arm over Marta's shoulders, the strawberry blonde's cheeks a deep pink, "Our baby Blondie has a crush. Who?"

"No," she shook her head, "I couldn't…"

"Come on," the girls pressed, leaning in, "Marta, tell!"

"What are friends for if you can't confide in them?" Michelle questioned rhetorically.

"I…"

"And you've never had a crush before, so this must be big," Billy pointed out, "Maybe we can help you."

"Oh…"

"Marta," Alicia pestered, "We are your friends. We are closer than friends, we are family. Family tell each other everything. Who's this boy? Does he like you? Details, every last one of them."

"Oh…okay," Marta took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut, "You'll all think I'm so stupid…but…I…" she bit her lower lip opening her eyes to stare uncertainly out at her friends, "It's Freddy." Summer felt her stomach drop as the other girls gave looks of bewilderment.

"Freddy? Oh, no, Marta, not Freddy," Michelle cried.

"No, just hear me out," Marta shouted, "I know that Freddy is…well…Freddy. I just think that…you know, it sounds a little romantic, but…I think if he had a girlfriend…a really good girlfriend, that really cared about him, he'd stop all the things he does. That he'd…that…I don't…I think he could change his ways, if he knew someone really loved him." They were all stunned silent.

"You're in love with Freddy?" Katie spoke up. Marta turned a deep shade of red.

"I don't think that…no, I couldn't possibly be _in_ love with Freddy. I love Freddy, but not _in love_, I mean…it's just too early to tell, don't you think," she sputtered.

"How long have you had this crush?" Eleni questioned. Summer pulled her bag towards her, pursing her lips and trying to focus on the pretty garment inside, trying to fight the emotions struggling within her.

"Well…" Marta mumbled, "A year and a half, now." A few of the girls gasped, and Summer winced, feeling sick.

A year and a half. For a year and a half Marta had liked Freddy as more than a friend. For a year and a half, she'd cared endearingly for Freddy. For a year and a half, she'd pined over him and thought of him and longingly waited for him to notice her. For a year and a half she'd fantasized about saving him from his life and taking him away from everything that was horrible and helping him straighten everything out. For a year and a half, even as she denied it, she'd been in love with Freddy.

And for a year and a half, Summer had barely realized Freddy was there. Hadn't she? She didn't even think that he had a life outside of the band, that he was hurting, that he was screwing around for some un-evident reason. Something was hurting him, and Marta had noticed, whereas Summer had simply shrugged it off as a defective personality trait.

"Do you think…do you think he returns your feelings?" Summer whispered, deathly pale as she clutched her bag to her. Marta looked surprised, then let her eyes fall to her french-fries.

"I don't know. But he…Friday night…he kissed me."

"He did," Eleni squealed, "Oh, how cute!"

"Well, actually…"

"I have to go to the restroom," Summer excused herself. Stiffly she stood, hastily striding away from the table, as the girls surrounded Marta for details. She didn't hear the part where Marta explained Freddy had been drunk, and there might have been nothing to the kiss, but she wouldn't have cared either way.

The swinging door to the restroom slammed shut and Summer braced herself against the counter in front of the mirror and sink. She took a composing breath, trying to calm her nerves, trying to stop shaking, then turned the water on and splashed her face.

_What do we do? What are we doing?_ She had been so uncertain, so scared of these feelings inside her, back at the bookstore.

_I don't know. But we'll figure it out._ His words had been such a comfort. She'd been convinced that everything would be alright. That they could figure out, even soon possibly, what was happening between them. And then he had drawn her forward, into another kiss, brushed her hair from her eyes.

_Stop avoiding me_, he had told her, _it pisses me off. _It was the closest he could come to speaking about his feelings. She could tell, from the look in his eyes, that it hurt him as well. And then he'd left and she had followed.

She wished he was there now, but she didn't know why. Being around him, especially since the night before, she felt secure. She felt all jittery as well, from their kissing endeavors, but that feeling of safety still remained. He would take care of her, she was convinced, she was protected with him.

A harrowing decision settled inside of Summer. Marta deserved him. He deserved Marta. The blonde really cared about him, deeply, and there was no doubt in that cherubic face of her motives for loving him. Marta cared about Freddy for no reason than to simply care about him. She probably knew a lot about Freddy's life. He probably talked to her about how un-perfect things were at home, the security dogs, being a plumber, broken vases, and the lonely nights. Marta had probably been over to Freddy's house on a few occasions. She'd probably even been inside his 'home'. That look in Marta's eyes suggested that she knew Freddy, that she really knew him. Marta probably even knew that it was unwise to talk about Freddy's father with him. She probably even knew about Freddy's father, knew everything about the enigmatic business tycoon who's very mention incited so much turmoil in the drummer.

And like Marta had said, maybe if Freddy had someone who truly cared about him. Someone who was stable even, and knew exactly what she wanted, who wasn't a complete and total bitch and didn't treat Freddy the way he thought he deserved to be treated, he could get his life together. Maybe he would stop drinking, stop womanizing, stop doing all those things he did to hurt himself. He would do all those things for Marta. Because Marta could make him feel loved, could make him feel cared about. Because Marta wouldn't be using him.

I haven't even had the chance to figure out how I feel about him and already he's being taken away, Summer thought, her eyes glazing over with fresh tears. She clutched the counter rim, squatting down to press her forehead against the cool plastic, ignoring how dirty and unsanitary everything was in that public place. But doesn't Marta just deserve him more? Wouldn't she be a great deal better for him than you? Yes. Probably. The door opened, and she straightened, turning to face the newcomer, and swiping away those small tears.

Katie crossed her arms over her chest, staring impertinently at Summer, her lips pressed together and her eyes wide.

"You abandoned me," she accused, "They were ready to zero in on me with their 'who has a crush on who' game. I barely scrambled out of there!"

"I'm sorry," Summer quickly apologized, but caught the worry lining her friend's face and fell silent.

"Why'd you take off?"

"No reason," Summer shrugged, turning back to face the mirror and attempt straightening her hair. She hadn't realized it was such a mess. She blushed. Freddy and the bookshelf hadn't exactly helped. Katie fell in beside her, tugging out a tube of lip gloss from her pocket, and applying some.

"You've been acting a little weird, is all," she murmured, "What do you think of Marta liking Freddy? Freaky, huh? Though I guess we should have seen it coming…the way Marta is always hanging around him, always talking to him, always wondering where he is."

"I guess," Summer mumbled, glowering at a particular knot that was giving her trouble as she ran her fingers through it. She tried not to let her voice break under the pressure of suppressing her true feelings. She dared a glance Katie's way, "What do you think?"

"It's Freddy," Katie shook her head, then sighing haggardly, "The others are all gung-ho about Marta's crush. They think she has a huge chance…and that they'd make a perfect couple."

"Oh," Summer stammered, choking on the word somewhat, "Do they really?"

"Yeah," Katie piped, turning to lean back on the counter and smiling half-heartedly at Summer, "But let's be honest here. If, and this is a huge if, Freddy and Marta were to date, which would never happen because Freddy doesn't date band members according to Zack, I highly doubt that any amount of love and caring she could cram down his throat would have any affect on him. He would never want to be her charity case, but that's exactly what she's making him out to be. You remember when there was that lost puppy, and Marta just had to take it in because it looked so sad and lonely."

"Turned out it had rabies," Summer muttered, "I remember. Most of the band had to get shots. At least I didn't. We had to have the dog put down too, and no one in the band would talk to her for weeks, and vice versa. Made practices really hard. But Freddy doesn't have rabies…anymore…and he's not a lost puppy."

"And he wouldn't like being treated as one, either," Katie pointed out, "It's just Marta doesn't understand him, is all. Hell, you'd think I could connect, my life is so screwed up, but even I don't understand him. His life, what little Zack has mentioned about it, makes my life look like…like…a boat on a river with tangerine trees and marmalade skies."

"Like an LSD trip?" Summer scrunched her nose and they laughed.

"Okay, bad reference…but I don't know. She's right, it's a little too romantic an idea, that she would swoop down on his miserable life with her light and happiness and cheer and save him from himself," Katie shook her head, "I feel bad saying this, but that is way too idealistic, even for her."

"No. You shouldn't feel bad," Summer told her, smiling solemnly, though feeling the weight lift off her chest, and a little less sick to the stomach. She hadn't thought of things that way and she was grateful for Katie then, more intensely then before, for pointing it out to her, "You're right. It's an unrealistic fantasy, that chances are, will never work out."

"Should we tell her?"

"No. They already think I'm a bitch, why open my mouth and prove it?" Summer reasoned.

"You're not a bitch."

"Don't lie to me, Katie, I see it in your eyes."

"Oh yes. You're right. I think you are a complete and total bitch. You saw right through that one," the bassist dripped sarcastically, shaking her head and chuckling softly.

"I knew it," Summer murmured stubbornly.

They exited the bathroom together, their laughter dying as they entered the crowded food court once more. And Summer's smile faded almost completely as she spied that Zack and Freddy had returned. The drummer was seated beside Marta, probably due to the meddling of the other band members, and she was leaning in to whisper something in his ear. He seemed to nod, but Summer couldn't read his expression. He looked flustered. She frowned, feeling her stomach knot. They looked good, sitting next to each other, whispering in one another's ears, she realized.

Maybe it would be better if Marta was with Freddy. And in order for that to happen, Summer thought, she would have to step aside.

0-0-

The days leading to Friday auditions were hazy. Summer made a good effort of avoiding Freddy without appearing to be avoiding him. She sat with the band at lunch again, laughed with them, walked to classes with them. But she made it a point not to find herself alone with the blonde drummer. And she believed or simply hoped, he hadn't caught on, that in truth, she was still avoiding him.

But Kyle, however, did. Her strange behavior around the drummer was more than evident to the ex-boyfriend, as were all of Summer's 'behaviors'. In fact, he watched her like a hawk. And as she flitted around at the auditions, his eyes were ever on her. She was near the band, chatting and laughing with Katie and a few of the other girls. At one moment, she tripped, and Freddy easily caught her. She'd blushed, said something and shied away. Kyle frowned at this. Something was definitely going on.

The auditions were being held at a small amphitheater, which would also be the location of the contest. It was fairly new, a part of a near-by university, a prestigious arts' institute. A few of the bands had already auditioned, and Kyle sat with the other Barber Boys, awaiting their turn. The crowd was sparse now, as people came and went from their auditions. It was just perfunctory, Kyle knew, he and his group would make the bill without problem. And they would win, he was convinced, because they were the best. He didn't even bother listening to the other groups as they performed.

The small door, leading to the audience floor and stage, opened and a stout man holding a clipboard stepped out.

"School of Rock," the man called, and Kyle watched them disappear into the stage area. He frowned. Summer stood to the far wall with a few of the other non-musicians in their group.

"Why are we still doing this?" Cory moaned, beside Kyle, shooting an uncertain look towards a boy with a foot tall Mohawk and several piercings. Kyle ripped his eyes from the petite dark haired woman, and glowered out at his 'friends'.

"Yeah," Matthew whined, "She dumped you. Shouldn't this be over?"

"No," Kyle snapped, "We're still going through with this stupid thing, and we will win and she will leave that band behind. Then, without them to influence her, she'll come back to me and…"

"Oh god," Darren muttered, huddling closer to the other two boys, all wearing blanched faces of fear, looking out at the less than chaste looking rockers around them, "Why are you always like this? Just let her go…sheesh. It was the same thing with what's-her-name…Gretchen or Gina…"

"Greta," Kyle hissed, "And it is not. I happen to love Summer and I happen to think she feels the same about me. It's those damn friends of hers, and that damn Freddy Jones…"

"Here he goes again," Matthew rolled his eyes, "Freddy Jones is just some punk kid, jeez Kyle, he's a spoiled rich delinquent. Just get your dad to sue his dad…that _was _assault and battery he committed against you…"

"Yeah, and look at your face, man," Darren put in. Kyle winced, touching a finger to his less swollen nose. It still stung.

"Who knows what that guy is capable of," Cory commented, "He's crazy. They all are…with their 'rock' music. And that old man at that dirty apartment, he's almost like their cult leader, or something…"

"All the more reason to get Summer away from them," Kyle insisted, "She'll come back to me, when I win this stupid contest…I just know it. They made her break up with me. I have to save her from them."

"Maybe that little band won't pass the audition," Matthew said hopefully, "Which would mean they'd lose the contest, and Summer would be ours…" he swallowed hard, having received a death glare from Kyle, "I mean…yours. Then we wouldn't have to perform."

Kyle shook his head, and perked when the door opened again and the School of Rock band members strode back out. He frowned. They'd auditioned already? That was quick. He didn't even recall hearing any music.

"Barber Boys," the man announced, and Kyle, with his group, marched towards the door. He paused, to gander at the School of Rock kids, who had taken to lounging, a few shooting looks of disgust the Barber Boys' way. He shook his head and continued forward towards the stage. He took his position and waited as Mr. Salvatore, who wasn't particularly happy with the idea of this contest, but found a way to work in making some sort of profit and publicity from it, put their music on.

Kyle smiled, broadly, winningly, as he'd been trained to do. Even though he felt sick, angry, and hurt. No one had ever broken up with him before. But Summer had. He loved her. Didn't she love him? She had to. But the way she acted around that Freddy Jones. The way she smiled at him, talked to him, looked to him with those soft, gentle eyes. It was almost like she wanted something from Freddy. How could she want anything from that womanizing jerk, Kyle wondered. Certainly anything that spoiled rich boy had to offer, Kyle could give ten times better. Freddy must be manipulating her, he assessed.

As Kyle went through the motions, sang the lyrics he'd memorized from so many performances, put on the show, all the facial expressions, all the dance moves, everything, he thought bitterly of Summer. They would win that competition, he decided. They would win no matter what, and she would come to him, and he would show her how much he loved her. And if she didn't come back to him, if his love wasn't enough to convince her he was everything she needed, then he would have to show her what kind of person Freddy Jones really was. By any means necessary, he would get Summer back.

The music ended, and Kyle energetically bounded off the stage with his fellow singers, just another part of the act. They gathered together, wiping the sweat from their brow and smiling pleasantly at the judges.

"Very nice," one of the judges, a pleasant young woman smiled, clapping her hands together. The other judge, the stout man, nodded somewhat, a frown creasing his mouth. The woman looked to him, "What do you think?"

"It's not the style we usually display…"

"Exactly. You wanted to draw in a larger crowd. We have to expand the musical horizon of our show," the woman pointed out. The man looked thoughtful a moment, before nodding.

"Right. You're on the bill," he informed them. Kyle grinned triumphantly, and Mr. Salvatore thanked the man.

As they began to walk out, Kyle announced, "I wonder if that School of Rock is on the bill, and if they had just as much ease…"

"School of Rock?" the man perked, and the boys paused, turning to look at him quizzically, "Now they're a great band. Of course they're on the bill. They're automatically on it, what with being the returning champions. They were here to make sure we put them on the bill, gave us a rundown of their new material and the equipment they'd need. I'm not judging...and I really shouldn't say anything...but I think they stand a great chance of winning again this year.."

"Those kids are so talented," the woman quickly agreed, "And passionate, too. You don't see that kind of love for music in these competitions nowadays…"

Kyle shook his head, an awning of disheartenment settling in his stomach. They walked out the door and found some of the band members, Dewey included, standing close by as though they had been listening. Freddy was leaned against the wall, beside Zack and Lawrence, Gordie and Leonard were there as well, and they nodded smugly at Kyle as though trying to appear like they just decided to stand there. He shook his head, growling softly under his breath as his group left the building.

Dewey looked to the other guys in stun, shaking his head, flabbergasted. He'd been silent, intently listening to the music muffled through that door. As the front entrance slammed shut behind the Barber Boys and they were officially gone, he let out a groan.

"She's leaving the dark side for that?" he cried, "Man, they suck!"

"Tell me about it," Zack muttered in disgust, "Such commercial lyrics…"

"And their music is just background noise," Lawrence commented, "It's all about their singing, so the music doesn't have to be that good, huh?"

"Exactly, dude," Freddy groaned.

"The problem is," Gordie interrupted, "The judges aren't going to know that. This style of, if you can call it music, is so popular right now…and they will be the only ones of that genre performing…and well…chances are the judges will see them as innovative and new."

"Translation," Leonard sighed, "As much as I know we all hate to admit it, those guys might actually have the potential to be serious competition."

0-0-

Kyle slumped in the car, shaking his head for the thousandth time since they'd left the amphitheater.

"I hate to admit this," he finally spoke up, "But it would seem School of Rock is actually going to be serious competition."

"Yeah," Mr. Salvatore sighed, "And with how much I'm pumping up this comp, you guys had better win. Because if you lose to those kids, chances are…they'll get all the recognition I'm trying to send your boys' way."

"But what'll we do?" Matthew whined, "You saw the way those judges lit up when that band was even mentioned. They frowned the whole time we were performing…"

"Which is weird, because we were perfect," Darren muttered and the other boys broke into a discussion of everything that was great about their try-out. But Kyle wasn't paying attention. The gears in his head were slowly turning as a plot formed. He smirked. By any means necessary, no matter what it took, he was winning that competition.

"I think I know what we can do," he announced, grinning mischievously and the others looked at him, "We get them in trouble…for lip-synching."

"Huh?" Cody scrunched his nose, "Do they lip-synch?"

"Not yet," Kyle sneered, "Not yet…but in three weeks, four judges and a crowded amphitheater will think exactly that. And lip-synching is an automatic disqualification." The three other boys looked amongst themselves uncertainly, eyeing Kyle with disbelief at what he was suggesting, and a little bit of fear. Was he really proposing they set up this other band? They readied a protest, when Mr. Salvatore cleared his throat.

"I like that idea," he said, "You have the makings of a true chart climber, Kyle, you know that? Now why don't you tell us how you plan on pulling this off…" And the three boys clamped their mouths shut, because they too wanted to be true chart climbers.

* * *

A/N: HUH! That evil Kyle. What is he plotting? Bad, bad Kyle! And yes, Summer found out about Freddy kissing Marta! Oh no! What could possibly happen next!

Well, I have to get back to writing. Hm...I was drinking an apple marguerite, not long ago, and my head feels all floaty. My mom thinks it was a virgin, but I'm feeling all buzzed and I stood there watching my aunt make it, so...don't tell my mom. There's not much she can do about it now, I already drank one and half. It's not like it was my first drink, jeez...um...I mean...I've never drunk. Drinking alcohol is bad. Especially if you aren't of legal age...uh...

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, as well as any band slamming (if you're a fan of any band I might have inadvertantly or purposely put down) that occured. While I'm at it, please excuse any Freddy angst that I caused, any Summer bitchiness, any overly perky characters, and the Barber Boys, because let's face it...they need to be excused. Which reminds me. Hm...let's make a game out of it...can you all find the ways in which the Barber Boys are opposite of School of Rock? Tell me, when you _**REVIEW**_!

Thanks for Reading. Rock out. Awww...my Pink Floyd cd stopped...crazy...toys in the attic...i am crazy...THEMUSIC WILL NEVER DIE!


	14. It's Better To Have Loved And Lost

A/N: I FUCKING HATE THIS FUCKING SITE! I had all of your REVIEW REPLIEs WRITTEN UP AND THEN THE DAMN PAGE FUCKING WENT SOMEWHERE AND IT WAS ALL FUCKING GONE! AUGH!

I give up. I can't do it all again. I hope you all can forgive me for not writing up lengthy thank you's (even though I had, and now they're lost in the virutal abyss). I'm sorry. I just feel like crying now. SON OF A BITCH! GODDAMN IT!

And I'm sorry for all the curse words. I swear when I'm angry. I swear when I'm happy. I swear when I'm sad. I just...I swear a lot.

I had even written up the difference between the two bands, but now I can't. I'll tell you next update. Thanks everyone for reviewing. I'll post replies to all of you later (next update). Blame this GODDAMNED SITE!

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 14: It's Better To Have Loved And Lost

Freddy balanced his chin in his hand, staring cross eyed at the paper in front of him and attempting not to doze off. The teacher, a Mister Something-or-the-Other, stood at the front of the class droning on about this or that. Freddy was pretty sure it had something to do with history, as he was fairly certain he was sitting in social studies class. To say the least, his week had not been good. Between dull classes, detention where he was forced to do his homework and wasn't allowed to listen to any music or drum his pencils on the desk, band practices that lasted for hours on end, and late night drinking in which he tried to sustain a level of alcohol in his system that could pass him out and still leave him arguably function-able in the morning, he was not getting much rest. And any sober minute of the day was spent thinking about Summer, or trying not to think about Summer, trying to figure out why he was thinking about Summer, and wishing he were dead because he couldn't sort out his jumbled mind which was a mess from thinking so much about Summer.

A question was asked and, speak of the devil, a hand shot into the air. Freddy straightened slightly, eyes trailing to study the back of Summer's dark hair, swooping delicately down her back, and moving, swaying, as she tried to get the teacher's attention. For some odd reason, Mister Something-or-the-Other felt that Summer's habit of answering far too many, or rather, all, of the questions asked discouraged other students from trying. So he liked to give others in the classroom a chance by simply ignoring her hand. It drove Summer up the wall, and though he would never admit it, Freddy was annoyed by it too. If she knew the answers, why punish her? Answering the questions gave her some sick pleasure, why deny her that?

It helped that he liked hearing her speak, too. Her voice incited something within him, some semblance of passion, another one of those strange, alien, inexplicable feelings Summer gave him. When she spoke, it made him straighten ever so slightly, perk somewhat, strain his ears, and want to do…well, something at the very least. It usually ended up with him teasing her in some form.

But now, just looking at Summer, ignited that flame of emotion inside of Freddy. They hadn't really spoken since the mall, nearly a week and a half before. They hadn't had a chance, hadn't found a moment alone together. And because of that, he noted unhappily, that meant they hadn't shared any more kisses or embraces since the bookstore. She hadn't even looked at him since then. A few run-ins in the hallway was the closest to touching her he'd been. A flickered glance at lunchtime was all he could catch of her shining eyes, obviously not enough to satiate his want to bask in her stare and attention. Even when he taunted her she barely paid him mind.

She squirmed in her seat now, wriggling her hand in the air, tapping her foot impatiently. Freddy could just picture her lips pursed, her brow drawn together, her cheeks blanched and flushed pink from the dire need to answer the question. He smirked, absently picking his pencil up and twirling it much like a drumstick in the air, eyes never leaving the petite young woman. She was so easy to figure out sometimes. Her motivation, her drive. He could almost predict what she would do next, nearly bouncing in her seat, before clearing her throat, and calling Mister Something-or-the-Other to gain his attention because evidently he must not have noticed her waving. The teacher would sigh and mutter her name, and eagerly she would chirrup the correct, because it was always the correct, answer. Then she would toss her hair over her shoulders, fold her hands on her desk, sit up straight, cross her ankles, and beam up at the exasperated man in the front of the room awaiting praise. He very rarely gave it, usually snapping in annoyance, "Thank you, Miss Hathaway."

But then, sometimes, she was so complicated. Freddy was sure he would understand Quantum Physics before her. He didn't even know what the hell Quantum Physics was.

She hadn't even so much as spoken his name, addressed him even, since the mall. He frowned, a harrowing realization striking him. She was still avoiding him. She was still refusing to acknowledge him, his feelings, his confusion. He'd told her to stop, but now he wasn't sure why he thought simply telling her not to would work. She had been in his arms, and her tears had ceased. She'd seemed frail, small, and completely dependant on him. He'd been fooled for a moment that things were understood between them, things were sorted out, and that perhaps she might have figured out his feelings for her before even he did.

Maybe she had. And maybe she didn't want to return whatever those feelings were.

Anger rushed through his veins, and he scowled blearily down at the blank paper on his desk. He wanted to be mad at her, but mostly he was just mad at himself. He'd almost convinced himself that she cared about him. That she might even…almost…possibly…like…or even love him. But he realized how stupid he'd been.

Nobody would ever love him.

He felt sick. Without warning, the pencil in his hand flung through the air, luckily being seated in the back meant it whizzed harmlessly to the floor. He growled softly at his clumsiness, and ineptness, and moved to pick it up.

"Ah…Mister Jones," the teacher called, almost excitedly. Freddy froze, rolling his eyes to peer horrified up at the man, "How nice of you to participate today. Your answer…?"

"My what?" Freddy murmured, scrunching his nose, his eyes shooting around the classroom, at all the students turned to stare at him. For most of the girls, it wasn't much of a stretch for their necks. But they all seemed surprised that he would volunteer to answer a question. He felt his heart skip when Summer's eyes flashed his direction, until they lowered to her desk. He tried to figure out if it was him that upset her, or the fact she couldn't answer the question now.

"The process by which cells multiply would _be_…?" the teacher prodded. Freddy grimaced, suppressing the urge to curse out loud. He wasn't in history class, he was in science. At least he could bullshit history.

"Um…" he mumbled, searching his mind for a reasonable answer. He hadn't done his science homework since the first week of seventh grade, "Uh…multiplication?" Snickers around the room rang out that he was wrong. He glowered out at the students, trying to fight his embarrassment and look menacing, even as his face was warm and probably slightly red. "I don't know, alright. Jeez, just ask Summer already," he spat angrily, and the teacher's eyes widened, as the kids drew in their breath as a collective whole. Summer flinched at the drummer speaking her name, especially so harshly.

"Mister Jones, I called you."

"Yeah, well she's the only one that knows the answer. Nobody else gives a damn. Besides, how the hell is knowing the process by which cells multiply going to help me in the real world? Honestly, this class is such a crock.." Freddy immediately regretted blurting the words out, but then, he had been put on the spot, and he very rarely had control of the things that came out of his mouth.

"Your attitude is not appreciated," the teacher seethed, "That's the fifth time this week you've caused disruption in this class. I think you owe your fellow students an apology, Mister Jones."

"I wouldn't have to, if you'd stop calling on me," Freddy muttered. A few kids chuckled, the others stared in disbelief. They all knew that Freddy liked to act the badass, but never had he pushed at a teacher so far.

"I call on you because you are a part of this class," the teacher hissed, his hands tightening around his pointer, knuckles white, his lips pursed in consternation.

"Well I don't know the answers," Freddy retorted, shaking his head, "I would have thought you'd of figured that out by now…Summer knows all the answers, no one else does. Just call on her for Christ's sake. Make her goddamned day, jeez. You know how happy it would make her for you to just call on her first for once? She's the only one that cares about the stupid assignment…only thing she…"

"Mister Jones," the teacher snarled, trying not to blow his top completely, the other students seemed a little stunned, "I would appreciate you leave Miss Hathaway out of this conversation. This is not about her, this is about you. If you would do your homework, or pay attention in some way, perhaps you'd know the answer, much like her, and bring that failing grade up a little…"

"Or maybe I'm just stupid and that's why I don't know the answer," Freddy roared, then slamming his hands against the desk and pushing himself to his feet, he growled, "And maybe it is about her." He grabbed up his backpack, forgetting the pencil and paper, and stormed from the room. He could feel all of their eyes on him, except for those of one person. Summer.

Freddy slammed the bathroom door open and tossed his backpack to the far wall, before slumping against a sink and staring haggardly at his reflection in the mirror. He didn't look so hot. His skin placid, his eyes glazed over, bags and all. He hadn't eaten much lately, either, and it was starting to show. He looked like a drug addict. He shook his head, closing his eyes and trembling considerably, sniffing and fighting back the tears.

"I'm not an alcoholic," he told the empty room in a soft quiver. It didn't answer, but he took the silence as an argument. "I'm not an alcoholic," he repeated, louder, angrier, and the words bounced off the walls reverberating back to him, "I'm not…" he shook his head, pausing for a moment to swallow and take a few painful breaths, "So what if I am. Nobody cares anyways," he smirked ironically, "Summer doesn't care."

It would seem Dewey was wrong. Freddy didn't deserve her. He deserved a bullet through the head more than he deserved her. More than he deserved any girl like her. Any good girl. He didn't deserve Summer, she didn't want him.

Hell, he didn't want her to want him. It wasn't right. She deserved someone better, someone less screwed up. Someone that…that didn't stir up trouble in classes, didn't talk back to teachers, didn't ditch first and second period because of a hangover, didn't kiss her and not know why, didn't force himself on her, didn't make her cry, didn't…didn't do all those things Freddy did.

There came a soft knock at the door, and he turned his head to look at it quizzically. No one knocked on the restroom door. They just barged in. It was a public restroom after all. When no sound followed, he returned to his reflection. Another knock, harder, a bit impatient, maybe a little nervous. He raised an eyebrow at the door, before slowly making his way to it, and swinging it open partially. He was shocked to find Summer standing, fidgeting, raising a hand to knock again. She started, seeing that she was about to knock on his chest, and quickly dropping the hand to her side, lowering her eyes.

"I came to see if you were alright," she whispered. His brow furrowed in confusion, taken aback. Wasn't she avoiding him? "And after what you said in class…" he frowned. Yes, that was the reason behind her presence. Maybe he'd embarrassed her, he thought with satisfaction. Maybe all the other kids had stared at her, maybe a few of the girls had made a few snide comments. Everyone was probably wondering what Summer Hathaway, Miss Perfect, had to do with Freddy Jones, Mister Fuck Up, storming from the classroom. Maybe even she wondered herself.

Adrenaline kicking into his system, he grabbed a hold of her wrist, and pulled her roughly into the bathroom, letting the door shut behind them as she was flung to the far end of the room. She spun, her hair falling about her face, eyes wide, and mouth opening to speak.

"I told you to stop avoiding me," he hissed, and her mouth clamped shut. He scowled. So she wasn't even going to attempt denying it, "I told you that it pissed me off."

"I'm sorry if…" she began to stammer.

"You're avoiding me?"

"No. I don't mean to…"

"Avoid me?"

"Freddy, I…"

"Am avoiding me?"

"Stop that," she cried, then turning from him, wrapping her arms about her body, and trying not to look too much around the boys' restroom. She'd never been in it before. So this was what it looked like, "Alright…I'm avoiding you. But when you asked me to stop, I swear, I had every intention of stopping!"

"Then why?"

"Because…because…" she turned to face him again, meeting his eyes, "You kissed Marta." He felt his stomach drop. He knew that mistake was going to come back and bite him in the ass one day, he just didn't think it would happen like this.

"If you're mad at me…" he started carefully, softly.

"I'm not mad at you," she interjected, then shook her head, "I'm not mad."

"Then _why are you avoiding me_?"

"Because…because…" she chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, and he tried not to think about how beautiful she seemed with that innocent look on her face, "You'll think it's stupid of me, but…I'm avoiding you because you should be with Marta."

"_What_?" Freddy gaped at her, "Summer, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"Well," Summer stammered, tears filling her eyes, shivering down her cheeks. Great, he made her cry again, "I just…thought that…you know…Marta would be good for you…and…that…I'm not…and…I don't even know what I want from you and…we can't seem to figure out what we're doing…but you kissed Marta, so you must like her and…"

"I was drunk, Summer."

She paused, voice faltering a moment.

"Doesn't matter," she stammered protest, "You still kissed her…which means you wanted her…and I'm sure you weren't that drunk…it happened that Friday. I saw you afterwards, you weren't that intoxicated. You don't get drunk like normal…"

"She was supposed to be you."

"...people, and you don't…what?"

"I'm scum, alright?" Freddy said, stepping forward, "I think of one girl when I'm kissing another. I'm a real jerk, huh?"

"You were thinking of me…when you…"

"Yeah. Stupid, huh?"

Silence.

"Who do you think of, when you kiss me?" Summer dared asked, meek whisper, as Freddy's hand came to touch her cheek and slip behind her neck.

"Who do you think?" he retorted, drawing her forward gently.

"I don't know…"

"I think of you, idiot," he whispered, leaning in, as her eyes closed and lips parted slightly.

The door slammed opened, and Freddy pulled away, turning, frustrated, thinking to yell at the intruder. He caught his words, his mouth banging shut so fast he bit into his tongue. Kyle looked between the two teens in stun, eyes lingering on Summer longer than Freddy found comfortable.

"What is going on?" Kyle demanded, "What are you doing in here, Summer…and…with _him_?"

"Dude, she ain't your girlfriend anymore," Freddy spat, "So that's none of your business." Kyle narrowed his eyes at the drummer. Summer looked to the tiled floor, pressing her lips together and clasping her hands in front of her, feeling rather awkward and out-of-place.

"I should leave," she mumbled, heading towards the door. Kyle wrapped a hand around her arm, halting her.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered in her ear.

"I really have to go," Summer replied earnestly.

"Well, I really need to talk to you," Kyle answered haughtily, tightening his grasp, smirking and slyly commenting, "Besides, you shouldn't be in the boys' restroom, especially with _him._ You could get in trouble…I'm sure your mother wouldn't approve…"

"Hey," Freddy snapped, grabbing a hold of Kyle's collar, "She said she had to leave." Kyle glowered down on the blonde, who stared dangerously up at the taller boy, saying steadily, "Let her go."

"Or what? You'll get yourself another month's worth of detention," Kyle shot back, "I know you have that principle in your pocket…what did your daddy pay her off?" Freddy flinched, tightening his hand into a fist, "Or is he sleeping with her?"

"Shut the fuck up. You didn't get in much trouble yourself, if I remember correctly. Maybe because you're the little star jock? The coach couldn't risk getting his precious MVP kicked off the team, does he know what a fag you are with your teeny bopper Barber Boy bullshit?"

"That's quite the mouthful for a miniature booze hound. By the way, how are those Al-Anon meetings going? You know…I'm sure your dad's not sleeping with her, that's a bit presumptuous, and somewhat rude of me to say. I hardly know the man. But I do know you, and well, you were in that office for an awfully long…"

"Will you two stop it?" Summer interrupted, her voice slightly shrill. She looked a bit horrified. Both boys fell shamefaced in silence. They'd almost forgotten she was there. She yanked her arm from Kyle's grasp, and shook her head at them, "I will see the both of you at the Battle of the Bands. Hopefully when this is over….this will be _over_. Good luck to the both of you." She promptly turned on her heel, storming from the restroom. After a silent moment, Freddy, shaking his head, left as well.

0-0-

The Jones estate was deceivingly dark as Freddy made his way up the driveway. It was late, he knew, but nobody would be in the house to mind. Band practice had run late into the night, and even after everyone had left, including the back-up singers, Freddy and the others, Lawrence, Katie, and Zack, were still left there with Dewey listening to classic rock CDs and watching video tapings of old concerts. They ended up getting in a fight over the importance of the 12-bar blues in rock, thus ending in Freddy and Zack wrestling in a semi-angry, semi-joking fist fight that Dewey was too amused by to break-up. Katie had to step in, and Lawrence was reading a book during the whole event.

The night hadn't been so bad, just long and tedious. It didn't help that every time someone cleared their throat, or whenever Marta would try to strike up a conversation, or even when Dewey announced lightly "it's time to stop goofing off, and get rocking" even as he was usually the one goofing off, Freddy was assaulted with thoughts of Summer. Everything seemed to remind him of the annoying little manager. Of course, the fact she was annoying was one of the things about her he was finding he loved.

No.

Not loved, bad choice of word.

Liked. He liked it about her. Not loved. No. He didn't love anything about her. Love was too strong. That would mean he loved her. And he didn't love her.

Did he?

The door clicking shut seemed to echo through the large house and Freddy tried to erase images of caves from his mind.

_So…you're all by yourself?_

He shook his head, beginning towards the kitchen, and more importantly, the liquor. Kicking his shoes off, he flung the cabinet open, and dug through it. Hm…what to drink…what to drink…scotch sounded good, a little gin - oh wait, he wasn't picky. He grabbed the first bottle that didn't have a French name on it, and dug into a drawer for the cork remover. Popping the stopper from the bottle, he took a long drawl, and gasped from the burn of alcohol against his throat. Damn, it felt good.

The silence in the house was deafening. He wondered what it was like, for a moment, to come home to a crowded house. This wasn't his home, though, he reminded himself. He didn't think he could deal with a crowded house anyways. He didn't like any of his family members enough to want to be around them very much, and all that left were the domestics, and he didn't even know any of them. He thought briefly about Summer, coming home to Summer. The thought was weirdly nice. He smirked, the term "honey, I'm home", entering his head. How pathetic, he thought. He made a silent vow to never in his life use that phrase.

His stomach grumbled and he realized he hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. During lunch, he'd spent the time trying to get Summer's attention, and worrying that he'd lost her for good in the bathroom to even bother eating. Dewey had offered them food at the apartment, but from experience, the band members had learned never to eat anything that Dewey offered.

There were never any leftovers in the Jones' refrigerator. Whatever didn't get eaten was thrown away. Freddy frowned. Katie would have a field day ranting about how wasteful it was, and that there were starving children in China, or India, or somewhere in the world. Of course, Freddy didn't care about starving children somewhere in the world, he cared about himself starving . He was hungry and there was nothing to eat. He glanced at the phone hanging on the wall and considered calling for pizza or Chinese take-out. He took another gulp from the bottle and decided all he needed was his drink anyways. He walked to one of the drawing rooms and took a seat on one of the soft leather couches. It felt good against his skin.

Kind of like Summer. The rest of the day, nothing. No interaction, no talking, no looks, not even an accidental hallway run-in. She was mad at him, he was certain. He shouldn't have gotten in that quarrel with Kyle, he knew. But the bastard was goading him, and it wasn't like he punched the guy again. She didn't approve of the things he'd said, he knew. But he wasn't taking them back anytime soon. Kyle was wrong. He didn't know anything about Freddy. But then, he wasn't far off about Mr. Jones, the father. It was Miss Mullins that Freddy had been defensive for from that lewd comment on Kyle's part.

_It must be lonely…_

A few more long gulps, and the alcohol was starting to go to Freddy's head, making it light and swimmy. Fuck her, he thought. He was done with the shit she was giving him. He just wanted her because she'd had her boyfriend, and he always wanted what he couldn't have, and now she didn't have a boyfriend, so he didn't want her anymore. Right? He closed his eyes, another drink from the bottle. Exactly. There were so many other girls who were more attractive. So many girls who were looser, hotter, sexier, and less complicated. So many girls he could just call up and have over in a matter of minutes, have in his bed in a matter of hours, and ditch without the mess of heartbreak by morning.

He wished Summer was there. He wished he were kissing her. He wished he had her arms wrapped around him. Wished he could hear her voice, feel her touch, smell her scent, taste her lips and flesh, see those deep dark eyes.

Sure, there were a lot of girls who were more attractive than her, hotter, sexier. But not one of them was as beautiful as her. Not one of them was as pure, as innocent. And sure, he could do whatever he wanted to all those other girls but it was starting to seem all he wanted was her.

He shook his head, sinking back into the couch, slumping and resting the mouth of the bottle under his chin, smelling in the bittersweet scent of the alcohol to further help his buzz. She thought he should be with Marta. He wondered why she thought that. Well…she'd told him. She thought Marta would be good for him. Why? Why Marta? Alright, Marta was sweet, and chaste. She was almost as good a girl as Summer. She was pretty, a good friend, got good grades…Christian. Freddy smirked. Maybe Summer wanted him to find religion. Like that would happen. Not in the Jones family, no sir-ee. And besides, he'd have to read the bible, and that thing is fucking huge, the print is all tiny, and the pages are thinner than toilet paper. The longest book he'd ever read was The Cat In The Hat, and he still had yet to finish it. For a brief moment, he wondered if those kids ever got that damn cat neutered. And then he thought of Summer's cat, which led him to think of Summer.

Marta was too stable, too secure in life. Her mother and father were still together, still very much in love, and she had two siblings, a brother and a sister, that she actually enjoyed spending time with outside of the band and school. She liked to talk about them with the others. Freddy usually didn't listen, as he couldn't relate to the whole family thing.

He'd never seen Marta cry. Well, he'd seen her shed a few tears at the end of Charlotte's Web in third grade, and sob a little when that damn rabid dog was put to sleep, but he'd never seen her actually cry. The tears that rolled down her chin seemed shallow, false even. He'd seen Summer cry tears that seemed to bleed from her heart. And the connection he felt with her was so shocking, so scary, and so comforting. With Marta, everything was fake and so damned easy. He could smile, joke, act like the Freddy Jones everyone saw him as. With Summer, he felt that Freddy Jones fading, revealing the small, fragile, and very shattered real Freddy Jones beneath. It complicated things to no end. Maybe he wanted complication now. He wanted Summer, that was all he was really certain of. Maybe he wasn't such a bad person after all. Maybe he was even, perhaps…a little…normal.

_That's…sad…_

He took another drink from the bottle, but let it slide mid-gulp from his mouth as every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He sniffed, his eyes watering, perhaps from the alcohol, perhaps from this looming, unnatural feeling washing over him. He didn't know. Perhaps from both. He deadened his eyes, pressing his lips together, and sitting as still as possible. He hoped if he didn't move he wouldn't be noticed.

"I hope that's not the expensive stuff." It was a distant comment. Freddy tensed immediately, taking another stiff drink.

"It's all expensive, dad," he finally found the voice to mutter, leaning forward, his elbows pressed into his knees, holding the bottle loosely between his legs, his fingers clutching the neck. He shifted as the darkness further pervaded him. Mr. Jones strutted slowly, fluidly into the room, standing at Freddy's side.

"You were out late," he went on, in a tone that suggested he was just making an observation.

"I was at band practice," Freddy replied uselessly. He knew his father didn't really care. There was a soft snort.

"Because you're going to be a rock star, right," the older man scoffed, chuckling.

"Dewey says I'm pretty good," Freddy answered quietly, though it sounded empty hanging in the air. His father snorted once more.

"This from a washed up musician," Mr. Jones laughed, "Don't bother listening to him. He's a foul up. He's worse than a has-been, he's a never-was."

"You don't know anything about him," Freddy argued, flickering an enraged glance to his father, before bending further over himself, trembling with the frustration he struggled to bite down, "He's not a washed up musician, _dad_. And he knows what he's talking about…he really cares about music, and he wouldn't just tell us that, either…he actually cares about…"

"What? You?" Mr. Jones interrupted skeptically, before clapping his son's shoulder, "You can be so stupid sometimes, son. You really think some old man cares about you? Your own mother didn't care about you. But then," he turned, walking away slightly, leaving Freddy rigid, lips pursed together, and quivering, the drink in his hand splashing violently in the bottle from the movement, "She is a bitch. Doesn't care about anyone, but herself and lining her pockets."

"Dad…" Freddy started, but found nothing to say, so he took a shaky drink from the bottle once more.

"I got a call from that woman at your school…"

"Miss Mullins," Freddy murmured numbly.

"She said you were fighting at school with some other boy about a girl named Summer," Mr. Jones continued, and Freddy flinched at hearing his father, who stood for all things bad, tainted, and dark in Freddy's life, speak the name of the one thing that was entirely pure and innocent in his life, the girl he loved, "I can't believe you're fucking around at school because of some slut."

"Summer's not a slut," Freddy snapped, his head shooting up so that he could glower at his father impudently. A look crossed Mr. Jones' face, and Freddy felt sick. He lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He shouldn't have said anything. He should have just let his father talk, then wait for the older man to leave. He shouldn't have said anything.

"Don't tell me you actually like this girl?"

Freddy was silent and his father gave out an amused 'huh'.

"And let me guess, she likes you too?"

Freddy grimaced at the cynicism in that question, reigniting all his self-doubts from earlier that day. He furrowed his brow, focusing his attention on a particular spot of carpet. His stomach knotted.

"Don't be an idiot, for once, Frederick," Mr. Jones hissed, and Freddy bit his inner cheek, letting the bitter metallic blood puddle in the front of his mouth and the stinging pain satiate his need to hurt, "The only thing she sees in you is a trust fund and a pretty face," Mr. Jones snorted again, "She probably says she likes you for your personality. It's a difficult thing to accept, but you're not somebody a girl will ever love," he shook his head, striding from the room, "Take my advice, son, fuck her while you can, then drop her. And quit screwing around at school because of her."

Freddy shook his head, angry tears welling in his eyes and throat. He could hear his father's retreating footfalls reverberating throughout the house. When their echoes died down, he took another long chug from the bottle, easily finishing off more than half of what was left, before letting the pent up anger overcome him and hurling the bottle against the far wall with all his strength. It crashed loudly and shattered into a million pieces. The alcohol left in it splattered onto the plaster and floor, exploding like a bomb. He stared blankly at it for a moment, before leaving towards the kitchen. He was going to need more to drink in order to forget this night, to forget his father, to forget his own pain, his own agony. But mostly, to forget Summer. His head was pounding, his stomach was demanding food, he thought longingly of bed even though he knew he couldn't sleep yet, and suddenly he felt too old for his body.

_So…you're all by yourself._

0-0-

Dewey made his way casually into the out-of-the-way pub. As the crowd was sparse, it didn't take him long to spot the professionally dressed, brunette woman sitting stiffly at a booth. He smiled, waltzing over and taking a seat. She started, a tentatively sipped at mug of beer sitting nearly untouched in front of her.

"Hey, Ros," he greeted, then nodded to the bartender and pointing indicatively at the table. The bartender nodded, getting the hint, and turned to grab a mug and fill it with Dewey's usual alcoholic beverage.

"Dewey," Miss Mullins responded with a smile, "How was band practice?"

"Great," Dewey told her with his usual exuberance, "You know, I really think we got a lot done today. We're working on a few songs that I think are turning out pretty great, the band is really coming together, sounding pretty damn rockin', and everything is going great."

"And Summer?"

Dewey drew in his breath through gritted teeth. Shaking his head, his face twisted in a humorous expression.

"Let's just not even talk about that girl, alright. She's hot, she's cold, she's hot, she's cold…I don't know what's up with her. I'm thinking it must be a…uh…that time of the month sort of thing, but then, I don't want to assume."

"Dewey," Miss Mullins cried, shocked, and received a puzzled look.

"Did I say something wrong?"

Miss Mullins shook her head, sighing, and taking another bird-like sip of her beer, as the waiter came and set Dewey's drink down. He nodded a thanks and took a hefty gulp of the frothy golden brown liquid.

"Well, the girls have been hanging out with her lately, and she's been spending her time with the band again…but I don't know…it just doesn't feel the same. She doesn't come to band practices…something having to do with…well…her being a prize or something," Dewey scrunched his nose, then shook his head, grinning, "But we'll figure things out and get things awesome once more. I just know it!"

"That's…uh…very confident of you," Miss Mullin said, nodding They fell silent, quietly drinking their beers. She furtively glanced to the portly man a few times, growing ever pinker with each dared look. She took a deep breath, and cleared her throat, before speaking again, "I really enjoy…you know…coming and having a drink with you…well…every now and then…it's…um…very relieving after work."

"Cool," Dewey replied, "I guess it's pretty rad spending time with someone my age for a change. Well, I mean…Ned's cool and all, but he's not a hot chick and…" he stumbled on his words and looked to his drink, wide-eyed. Did he just refer to Miss Mullins as a 'hot chick'? They fell silent again, until Miss Mullins cleared her throat once more.

"I was thinking…well…I know you're really busy with preparing for the Battle of the Bands, and…" she shifted, fidgeting with her drink, "But I thought…well, there's a concert…Stevie Nicks…and well…it would be a nice break from everything…and you're the only person I could think of that would appreciate that kind of…well…concert…and would possibly…maybe…perhaps…want to go with me?" Dewey looked taken aback, impressed even, and a bit flattered. A slow smile made its way across his face.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

"What? Uh…no…no," Miss Mullins stammered.

"Because if you were, I'd totally be down with it."

Miss Mullins flushed, clearing her throat slightly, and smiling shyly up at him.

"You would?" she meekly questioned.

"Hell yeah."

"Then it's a date?"

"Date."

They took sips from their respective mugs, smiling up at each other.

0-0-

Summer lay on her belly doing her math assignment. She frowned at her backpack, scratching her head with her pencil and wishing she hadn't forgotten her calculator downstairs. She hadn't spoken much with her mother, though the woman acted as though nothing should be wrong between them. Austin had once come close to asking about the incident, his lips twitching at the urge, but he'd fought it, simply snorting under his breath and disappearing into his room. He was still angry, she knew, from what Freddy had done. Or maybe, from what she had done.

Extending her fingers, Summer studied the back of her hand, and then flipped it over to give the same attention to her palm. She shouldn't have slapped him, she knew. Mother slapped him, in much the same manner. And he'd reacted to that. He couldn't stick up for himself against their mother, but against Summer, that was another story.

And Summer couldn't stick up for herself against either of them.

She lightly touched her cheek. The bruise had faded long ago, but it had been a beautiful shade of purplish brown for awhile. A few teachers had asked about it, she'd simply excused it with a fanciful story about tripping over her cat, falling down the stairs and slamming her chin and cheek on the banister in her tumble. She was under the impression that all the faculty believed her. But then, she was little Summer Hathaway, honesty was her credo. Surely she was a bad liar, but when it came to family matters, she was well trained in the art of deceiving others.

Freddy had stuck up for her, though. And he would have done much more if she hadn't stopped him. He would have done so much more…for her.

Pushing her book away, she rolled onto her back, as her heart pounded madly at those thoughts. Maybe he'd just reacted. He did have morals when it came to boys hitting girls.

But then, he had been following her to ensure she got home safely, even though he was infuriated with her.

Battle of the Bands wasn't far away. She wondered who would win. School of Rock always won, but then Kyle and the Barber Boys were recording artists, that had to stand for something. There came a knock at her door, and she frowned its direction. She wasn't in the mood to talk with anyone, but she pulled herself up anyways, straightening her clothes and hair before answering. Her mother stood before her, lips pursed, hand on hip.

"Have you finished your homework?" was the first thing she said. Summer sighed.

"Not yet."

"What do you mean 'not yet'? It's almost time for bed, Summer."

"I know…I'm just…"

"Slacking off, again," her mother interrupted, whisking in. Summer held her tongue, "I talked to Mr. Philbur this afternoon. You may still have a chance at that scholarship. I've set up lunch with him for the weekend. I want you to wear that gray skirt…"

"I hate that gray skirt, mom, it itches," Summer murmured, wishing her mother would leave. The older woman simply scowled, shaking her head.

"I don't care. It gives you a professional look. You really need this, Summer, I don't want you to screw it up like you did last time. None of this rock nonsense. In fact, I'm thinking you should give it all up altogether. You'll go back to the clarinet…the universities like to see that kind of musical background in their students."

"I don't want to go back to the clarinet," Summer mumbled.

"You love the clarinet."

"I _loved _the clarinet," Summer clarified, trying to hold steadfast to her convictions despite the growing rage in her mother's eyes, "Because you did. And you wanted me to."

"You're developing quite the mouth, young lady. I don't doubt Kyle will not be happy with…"

"It doesn't matter what Kyle is happy with," Summer snapped, "I'm not dating him anymore, mother." She was satisfied with how quickly the older woman's mouth slammed shut. Jutting her chin out, Summer waited for her mother's response. She didn't have to wait long.

"Should I be surprised?" her mother clucked, lips rigid white, "You didn't give him enough time. The way you put that band first. You should have agreed to manage his group, but you never did, did you? And your lack of…motivation and drive. You didn't seem interested, it's no wonder he broke up with you. You two could have gone to Harvard together and…"

"Mom, _I_ broke up with _him_," Summer interrupted, and her mother's eyes widened, "And...I don't want to talk about this," she opened the door wide and motioned for her mother to leave.

"What? You…_what_?" the older woman snarled, before grabbing her daughter's arm and pulling her roughly into the room, "_I_ want to talk about this. How could you break up with him?"

"I didn't love him," Summer answered quietly. This seemed to befuddle her mother, and the older woman's mouth dropped open, flapping loosely, until she finally seemed to gather her thoughts and shook her head.

"Love him? _Love _him? Goddamn it, Summer, you threw away a prospective future because you _didn't love him_? You're too young to understand that love has nothing to do with it! Love isn't real, love, or trying to be in love will just get in your way. It'll drag you down and…"

"Didn't you love daddy?" Summer interjected, careful. Her heart was pounding now, and her mother drew her lips together. The older woman was quiet a long time, and Summer felt her heart stop.

"Of course I loved daddy," she finally whispered, as though she were lying to a child about Santa Claus'S existence, before shaking her head, and turning towards the door, saying harshly, "You have homework to do, and then go to bed." Without another word, she left, shutting the door promptly behind her.

Summer took a deep breath, before stiffly walking to her bed and slumping down onto it. Her mother didn't love her father? But they'd had the perfect marriage. He was working his way up in the military, and her mother was a hardworking part-time bank teller and fulltime housewife. She remembered so many times when they…when…well…there was the time that they as a family…and then…and her mother…and her father was always…

She curled her legs up under her chin, rocking back and forth a moment. Her mother didn't love her father. It made sense now. Maybe at some time in their marriage, they had at least liked each other, but then the nights when her father stayed out with friends rather than come home to dinner with his family, the early morning yelling contests, the weeks of silent treatment. She'd been too young to understand that those little tensions between her parents should have meant something, or that there should have been more passion between them. Her mother had never been in love. And most definitely not with her father.

Did that mean Summer had never been in love? And that she would never be in love? She took a deep breath. Of course I haven't been in love, she told herself. She was too young, and she'd yet to experience any bond strong enough to describe as love, at least, she was fairly certain she hadn't.

She closed her eyes, laying back on the bed and pulling her math book atop her. For a moment, she stared cross-eyed at the numbers and variables and different equations laid out on the page, but they were a jumbled mess. She lay her book down on her stomach, knowing she had no chance of figuring out the rest of her assignment, and she didn't even want to try. Taking a deep breath, she let her mind wander. Lunch with Mr. Philbur did not sound entertaining. She tried to remember the elderly man, but could only draw up images of Freddy in her mind. If she was never going to be in love, then what was this feeling towards him?

Drowsily, she turned onto her side, knocking the book off the bed and letting her eyes drift shut. She thought of Kyle and Freddy, their near fight in the bathroom. Over her? Why? What did Freddy want from her? Now, even, knowing that she didn't have a boyfriend anymore? She smiled.

Her mother may not have been in love with her father, but she knew she was going to be in love. Because it was already starting. This growing want inside of her. This growing desire to be with this other person, this other soul. This need to connect with him, and to take care of him. This hope that he would protect and care for her. She was already starting to fall in love. She was starting to fall for Freddy. Wasn't she?

She drifted into sleep. Maybe she would call him tomorrow. No. She couldn't. She couldn't possibly talk to him about this. He wouldn't feel the same way. He wouldn't return her feelings, and she couldn't tell him hers. It was all too much, all too weird, all too strange and different, and she liked it. She liked closing her eyes and every conscious thought hazily giving way to dreams of him.

Everything was dark when Pink Floyd filled Summer's ears. She bolted upright, blinked several times, groggily noting that she would have to change her ring tone or she wouldn't be able to listen to The Wall ever again, and felt around her nightstand in search of the melodically chiming phone. She lifted it up, squinting at the number. She couldn't make out the dark digital scribbles, and opted to simply answering.

"Hello?" she murmured painfully in greeting.

"I'll date Marta."

"What?" Summer pulled herself up. The voice was harsh, raspy, but still recognizable at such a low decibel.

"You want me…to…date…Marta…so…I'll…date Marta."

Summer blinked a few times to get the sleep from her eyes, shaking her head, and trying to ignore the severe pauses in that sentence.

"Freddy, what are you talking about?"

"That's what you said…that you want me to date her…and…you know…she'll be good for me…'cause she's…blonde…and I don't know what I'm doing and you don't know what I'm doing and…no….wait…it's the other way around…but….um…if that's what you say I want, then you want it. No…I mean…then you must be right."

"Freddy, slow down…what are you talking…are you drunk?"

"I'm not normal. It doesn't matter anyways…" Freddy went on, his words only slightly slurred, "I'll date Marta, and she won't be you, and then I'll fuck her up, like I fuck everything up. And I just wanted you to know that because it's what I…no…you want, I'm going to date Marta."

Summer slowly lowered herself back to her pillow, feeling a heaviness on her chest, her stomach turning in nausea. What was he saying? He couldn't be serious. He wasn't making any sense. "Freddy…" she whispered, "Stop it."

"Stop what? No…look…you said ask Marta out, so I will. And you know, it's not like I love her or anything, so it really won't hurt when we break up. And it's not like anyone can love me and…"

"Freddy…"

"Shut up, Summer! This is what you want, remember? It's not like you care. It's not like you're going to the Battle of the Bands for me…er…us. It's not like you'll be rooting for me to win. You don't care who wins, as long as it's over. And this is making it more…over…if I date Marta. And the truth is, I don't care anymore, either. Because I'm done fucking around, Summer. I'm done pretending like I can be some warm, fuzzy, good guy. I'm Freddy Jones. Nobody gives a damn about me…not any of them. Not you. I'm the spoiled brat that gets everything and deserves nothing."

"Freddy…don't…" Summer choked, tears forming in her eyes. She wanted to hang up. It wasn't him talking, it was the alcohol, she was certain. Even if it sounded a lot like him. But she couldn't hang up. It was like she was sick in the head, and this was her schitzo fantasy.

"And you know the really…really…pathetic part."

"Please don't do this…"

"The one person in the world I ever wanted, is the one person in the world that could never want me. Because, Summer, no matter what you say, you're too pure, you're too good a person to ever want someone based on the only assets I have; money and looks," Freddy spat bitterly, "You're the only girl that's ever made me feel anything besides anger and nothing. You're right to be scared of hurting me, because you're probably the only person who can. There's nothing between us, babe. There never can…" he swallowed hard, "There never will be. I won't date Marta. She's not you. She's…just….not you. And I want her to be…I can't be with someone that I'd want to be you. Because then it hurts, because the truth is Summer, I really, really, really want you."

Then there was a click, silence, and the dial tone kicked in. Summer's mouth parted, and she quickly covered it with her curled fingers, gasping beneath the lump on her lungs. The only thing that upset her more than the things Freddy had said, was the utter defeat in which he'd said them. It was almost as though he were giving up. She'd never heard so much pain and frustration bottled up in one voice, and it overwhelmed her just listening to it through the phone.

She put the cell back down on the nightstand, surprised to see how steady her hand was.

And then she broke into silent sobs.

* * *

END A/N: Well...I really hate this chapter. It didn't turn out very well (in my opinion). But this was, kind of, the one closetwriter was waiting for. This was Freddy's chapter. I know you all may be wondering, "why doesn't Freddy just say something to his father, tell the guy to shut up?" Keep in mind, that this has been Freddy's life. That this is the kind of treatment his father has ALWAYS given him, and when you're raised being told you're worthless and will never be loved, and that everyone only likes you for your good looks and money, and that you always fuck everything up...well...you sort of start to believe it yourself. I know, I know...poor Freddy. And maybe a little poor Summer in there too?

Anyways...god, I had some things I wanted to say, but now I'm just pissed at this whole goddamned site, and I just can't get my head on straight. I should mention that this chapter is a little late getting up because today was my birthday and I went and did stuff with my family. I hope you can forgive me.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and please REVIEW. I really feel like crying now...god, I'm SO FUCKING PISSED!

I'm sorry.

THANKS FOR READING. And Peace.


	15. Never To Have Loved At All

A/N: This chapter is so damn short...

IndesElfwine: In reference to your last review, you have a Kyle voodoo doll? I want one. You should market them, that'd be so cool! And don't worry, Freddy's not gonna get Marta involved, that's what he said, if you pay close attention to the last thing he said.

Kiie: Why thank you. I plan on finishing this one shortly.

wyverna: Yes. Poor me. I read your new story. Loved it! Did you get my review? Going into a character's background is fun. I'm glad you picked up on the differences and similarities between Freddy and Summer's living conditions and family lives. And yes, I do swear a fucking lot. I guess I'm just a serious person, I think I mentioned that in my bio somewhere...hm...what does my bio say? I'm not very good at comedy, I think, which is actually the hardest genre to write (in case you didn't know). You read some of my Recess stories? Which ones? I'm glad you liked them. Oh, and you were talking about Greenday in your last review. I had written up this long ass response to your Greenday conversation (because Greenday is my favorite band and all) and then the site refreshed or some shit like that and pissed me the hell off. Anyways, I had said that Dookie is my favorite album, but that's because it was the one that got me hooked. I used to go over to my, no ex-best friend's (the stupid bitch) house, and she had the Dookie album, and it was all I would listen to. That, or Sublime. I think it drove her up the wall. Nimrod isn't a bad album, it just has "Nice Guys Finish Last" on it, and that's got to be my least favorite Greenday song (which isn't saying much, because it's still preferred listening over pretty much everything else). AND what are you talking about American Idiot hasa FEW GOOD SONGS on it, THE WHOLE DAMN THING IS BLOODY BRILLIANT! It's one of those rare albums that you can't just listen to one song, you have to listen to the whole CD all the way through, or it's just not the same. It's like Pink Floyd's 'The Wall', or Supertramp's 'Breakfast In America', or Queen's "A Night At the Opera". Every single song on it is goddamned WONDERFUL, and it's the first time in a long time we've been given a treat like that. Oh, and because of you, I bought The Zuton's CD. It's pretty cool, though it kind of sounds like it might be Christian Rock (lot of God references in there), which I think is an oxymoron. No offense, if you listen to that kind of stuff.

Laura: You'll die? Man, that's one hell of a way to motivate a writer. Thanks.

Rachel: Thanks for the review. I like that you're getting into it, but it kind of unnerves me when people tell me what they want me to write, because I do actually have this whole story planned out. I know, that's a shock considering a lot of author's on this site just write fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants style. And hey, YOU ROCK!

iamnotachipmunk: IT'S NOT OKAY! THE SITE HATES ME! Okay, that's over with. And don't gnaw your finger off, I'm sure you need it! And that would be painful. I really wouldn't want to be responsible for you missing a digit.

Parcie05: Thanks for the sympathy. Yeah, the review was short, but I got your e-mail! Did you get mine?

Unlikely-to-bear-it: I'm glad you like this story. No, I'm not an alien. And I haven't given up on A Simple Kiss, it will be continued, so don't fret. I just have to get this finished. Check out my Daily Note on my bio, I give updated scheduling for which fics will be worked on when.

closetwriter: I was particularly fond of the Cat In the Hat reference too. And thanks for the Happy birthday.

Nanners-77: I went shopping today, so I'm much better now! Yeah, the last chapter wasn't so bad, it just didn't come out the way I wanted it to. Did you have fun in Michigan? Were you visiting family or something? Hallmark cards are great! I think people just like getting cards, though...huh...oh, and you had most of the differences on the bands right!

sweetcaroline: Yeah, it just didn't come out the way I wanted. That's why I didn't like it. I wanted Mr. Jones' jibes to be a bit more subtle, and a bit more painful. And other stuff. I can't remember what the chapter before last was about...maybe I should go look at it...hm...aren't all the chapters really just essential to the plot? In the long run? How old am I? Well...I'm not old enough to drink and gamblelegally, but I'm old enough to walk around the Strip past midnight. Did that help? Good luck on getting your permit, and yeah, I kind of had fun with the family. We didn't really do anything! We sat around with me saying, "When's my party? Let's go somewhere. Let's do SOMETHING!"

radiancex: Near tears? I didn't want to make you cry! I just wanted a little pang of sadness! Yeah, I have to agree. Summer and Freddy _belong_ together. And anyone who says different is just...well...entitled to their own opinion. HOWEVER WRONG IT MAY BE! Wow, you're gushing. And I'm blushing. And I...can't think of anything else that rhymes...

dozengirl: So my opinion doesn't matter? I see how it is. J/k. Thanks!

Alex: Yes. Curse like a sailor, I do. Actually, that's a misdomeanor. Sailors (Navy/Marines), they're not allowed to curse. Very stricts on that, they are. Oh, and I loved your last review! So much emotion...it was kind of scary. I love your ways of describing Kyle. Rat droppings...hehe...I am evil. I'm left-handed, that there is proof! And yeah, I knew Eleni was the wrong name (too much SoR). Keep in mind, I really haven't seen the Chipmunks in like...forever. I know they make new episodes (or movies, or whatever), but they're not the same. The Chipmunks (the old episodes and movies) used actual _real_ songs, and the new movies they make are kind of like the new Scooby Doo movies. They make up these lame songs, and they've got these lame plots, and it's all just...lame. Makes me nostalgic for the old eps. But thanks for giving me the right name, it would have bugged me for awhile!

vaguelyspecific: (I put you last, because you reviewed twice and other junk) HORRIBLE ENDING? What do you mean? You don't like it? Awww...that hurts my feelings. I'm over it! I don't think the next few chapters will be that great...but that's just me. Reviewing out of order does kind of throw you off, huh? Yay! I do feel special! I'm a special person! My cousin tells me that all the time. Disfunction and romance, my two strongest areas of writing (well technically, fantasy and sci-fi are, but...we won't go into that...) I didn't know that Summer-has-to-flee-but-can't part was very funny...wow. Yeah, their families do suck. I haven't really gone into most anyone elses. Lawrence had a moment where he completely went into bitch-about-his-family mode, but that's about it. It's not so much that Marta is unfeeling, as naive. She doesn't understand the difficulties others have to go through. She kind of has it in her head that she can just come along and help Freddy straighten his life out, because all he needs is someone to say, "you can do it". When the truth is, he needs serious help. He's a little alcoholic, manic depressive, something...something. I'm sad that Freddy drinks alot too, and I thought that phone call would be a nice little additive to the story. And yes, Summer is growing a backbone, of sorts. I think in my reply to you (that got deleted), I just kind of lectured on why you shouldn't be so against modern music. I said something about how...you shouldn't say you love music if you don't really LOVE music. I mean, I listen to like _everything_, anything that doesn't suck. Yes, that means I listen to R&B, rap(these two not so much anymore, as that areas kind ofdead in good material as of late),country, jazz, swing, opera, classical...I love music, what can I say. And while, yes, rock is my music of choice, I'll listen to anything else, so long as it's good, and it's about making good music, and not just throwing crap together for people to dance to and the artist (because they're not musicians) to make money. Um...I also said something about...oh, I get pretty defensive of my music too. I mean, I won't cram my ideals about music down someone else's throat, and if they like something that I think sucks, I won't say anything. It's only when they turn around and tell me my music sucks, that I'll kindly point out how their "garbage only has a two week lifespan, and and the weak lyrics are only made better by the fact they're muffled by the crappy back beats that make me want to blow my fucking brains out to stop the incessantly horrible noise." Yup. My reply might have offended you, though, it wasn't meant to. I hope this doesn't offend. I hope I haven't offended anyone. I don't try to, or anything. Um...onto the fanfic.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 15: Never To Have Loved At All

The next few days of school, Freddy never showed, though he would go to band practices at Dewey's. None of the School of Rock members asked him about it. With Freddy, they'd always found it was better to just not ask. He always gave adverse reactions to concern. Usually it was anger, sometimes, it was a blatant lie, and other times he just shook his head and muttered something inaudible. And it was always impossible to predict which reaction he would give. So they left it alone. It was much the same reason no one commented on how his hangover glasses had become a permanent accessory, that his drumming was sloppy, and when he chose to walk home after practices instead of taking the rides offered by various band mates.

Summer seemed distant now, as well, even as she had been warming up to the band members again. She sat at the end of the table, away from the others, next to Katie. She would eat in silence, and look around the cafeteria absently. Then she would walk alone to her classes, almost like an automaton. The first day, everyone made a point of asking her what was wrong, but she was unresponsive, simply mumbling something about being "fine". Nobody seemed to notice how she would glance to the back of the room, or make a habit to scan the first class she had with Freddy alertly, everyday, and how she seemed to falter with disappointment when he never walked in. Nobody seemed to notice how hollow her eyes were, and how she barely even bothered with her looks those days. When she failed to raise her hand to answer questions, in those few days, it was a shock to her peers and classmates. But she would say nothing and they gave up asking her about it. Katie seemed to be the only person she would really speak to. Everyone else was given a grunt of greeting and a few nods or shakes of the head.

After a similar acknowledgment Friday morning, Tomika slumped against her locker, fumbling with the lock. She sighed, tightening her grasp on her backpack strap. She was tired of dealing with all the emotional crap, trying to make sense of what was happening to their once seemingly tight-nit group. She hated to admit it, but it was starting to seem like winning Battle of the Bands was not worth it. She felt a body slink beside her, and she smirked at the gray metal door in front of her.

"Hey, Alicia," she mumbled.

"God, I'm so sick of this."

Tomika turned her head to peer at the shorter young woman. Alicia was leaning heavily against the wall of lockers, her back pressed into the smooth metal, her eyes rolled up to stare at the ceiling. She had her arms crossed over her chest and she was shaking her head. The smaller girl looked annoyed, to say the least.

"Sick of what?" Tomika questioned, though she knew the answer. It was the same thing they were all sick of. Summer. Why couldn't the girl just make up her mind? Did she hate them? Or like them? Which was it? Because everyone was really confused on the matter.

"I say 'Hi, how's it going today?' and she says, 'hun'. I say, 'so, did you get your math homework done?' She says, 'hun'. You know, I really don't speak disgruntled white girl," Alicia muttered.

"I'm sure she's just burnt out," Tomika reasoned, though she didn't really believe it. She just felt the need to speak up for Summer, even if she didn't know why. Summer didn't seem the person that deserved being defended in the situation. Tomika had always spoken for the underdog, standing up for those that she knew had good hearts. She couldn't stand someone picking on another person. She liked to try to see everyone's side of the story, but she couldn't figure out Summer.

"Burnt out? That's a load of shit…hell, I'm burnt out," Alicia argued, her voice growing shriller the more she spoke, "After all these damn band practices. Is Zack going to write any lyrics that aren't shit? Now, if you want to talk about burnt out…that boy is frying his brain cells on energy drinks and caffeine pills trying to stay up late and get something decent out. All for her, and she doesn't even have the common decency to spill out a pleasant hello in the goddamned morning!"

Tomika flinched slightly against the sharpness in her friend's voice. She sighed, smiling half-heartedly and shaking her head, shrugging.

"I don't know what to say."

"Say you agree with me," Alicia pressed, "Because most everyone else in the band does. We're tired of her shit and we know this battle is going to be a waste of our time. Because she's giving us the cold shoulder again, and we didn't even do anything the first time."

"I know what you mean," Tomika sighed, "And I wish I knew what to say. But the truth is, Alicia, I still believe that deep down, Summer is our friend and she knows it. That she cares about us, and deep inside, she wants us to win the Battle of the Bands." Alicia took a deep breath, closing her eyes and lowering her head. She looked thoughtful a moment, before licking her lips and looking up to Tomika.

"God, I hope you're right."

"Yes, well…" Tomika mumbled, fidgeting with the lock once more, "Zack's lyrics aren't so bad."

"Are you kidding me? Even he keeps saying how much they suck," Alicia cried and Tomika smiled.

"Yeah. And I am worried about him, actually. He does look a little like a zombie…"

"Don't we all? Gordie's been working day and night on that light display, he's out of it. Heather Franklin was wearing pastels, she walked right by Billy…nothing, not even a comment on how her Fall make-up was a total clash with her definite winter skin-tone, not to mention, he was wearing gray socks with his blue slacks today! Katie looks like the Goth that time forgot, Summer's got her spinster frump look on, please tell me that Leonard is not adopting a grunge style, and Freddy!" Alicia screeched, "Oh, damn, don't get me started on that boy! He looks like the next young victim of HIV! I'm worried about my girl, Marta, too. With the love of her life practically killing himself with alcohol poisoning, she's been on fritz end. It's like I can't even talk to her anymore. I get a call in the middle of the night from her asking, 'do you think I should call him and talk to him about how missing so much school isn't good for his grades'! Best friend or not, I am not taking late night phone calls. Girl, I need my beauty sleep!"

Few people understood Alicia and Marta's relationship. One was the epitome of saintly hood, the other a slick sister with a bad mouth. But they were the best of friends, always laughing to their own inside jokes, always spending the night at one another's houses, spending every possible minute of every day together. Tomika believed they got along so well because of their differences. Alicia was always convincing Marta to do things she otherwise would never do, and Marta was always talking Alicia out of taking things to a dangerous extreme. They balanced each other. One was the yin to the others yang. And, of course, since fifth grade Tomika had been good friends with both girls as well, though, she knew she would never be as close to the girls as they were to one another, they still considered her a best friend as well. But she often played mediator in their friendship, trying to give good advice to keep Marta and Alicia reminded of how good a friends they are.

"You'll just need to talk to Marta," Tomika said, finally managing to open her locker and shoving her books in, then pulling a few out, "Tell her that you love her and all, but she needs to chill out. Freddy will do his own thing, we all know that, and the only person who may be able to get through to him is…probably Dewey…"

"Or Summer," Alicia put in, "He listened to her more than he listened to Dewey sometimes. But honestly, I don't think Summer's going to be much help in this situation. She's barely speaking to any of us. To go out of her way and try and set a guy, that most times I don't even think she likes, straight, that doesn't seem likely to happen."

"I know it's hard to see, but Summer and Freddy are good friends," Tomika argued, "And she cares about him…I think. But you may be right, Dewey is our best bet in this. We just got to tell him that Freddy's been ditching class all week."

"Yeah, and somehow not let the guilt of being a tattle-teller get to us," Alicia laughed, before straightening, gazing somewhat over Tomika's shoulder, "I'll see you later, alright girl?"

"Huh? Yeah…okay…but we have the same class, let's just walk together," Tomika replied, feeling the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck tingle with paranoia. What was Alicia looking at, and why was there a sly smile on the shorter girl's face?

"No, I'll definitely see you _later_, Tomika," Alicia insisted, before turning and heading down the hall. She spotted Marta and joined the blonde. Tomika turned slowly, her body tense. She blushed when she saw the slim Asian boy shyly standing a ways down the hall daring a few glances her direction. She took a deep breath, before making her way over towards him.

"Hi, Lawrence," Tomika greeted, and he nodded, smiling meekly.

"How are you?" he questioned quietly.

"I'm fine," Tomika answered softly, "You?"

"Um…good. Can I…would you mind if I…well…walked you to class?"

Tomika smiled, looking up at him through her lashes. Lawrence was blushing furiously, staring hard at the tiled ground, and his smile was a bit awkward.

"I would like that," she told him. Together they slowly began down the hall, and then Lawrence paused.

"Would it be okay if I…um…carried your books for you?" he asked carefully. She nodded, and he took the text, binder, and few folders she held.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

They began walking again, now a few people watching them, whispering somewhat. They made their way steadily, eyes staring at the ground, moving as though angled, precarious of their next movement. Their hearts were pounding, and neither seemed certain as to what they were doing. Recognizing the nervousness and self-doubt in Lawrence, Tomika took a deep breath, deciding to make a very daring move as she slipped her hand in his own. She was relieved, when his fingers enclosed hers.

0-0-

Dewey was surprised to find Freddy sitting at his drum set. It was around one, one-thirty, and the younger boy should have been in school. Dewey frowned. They weren't even going to be having practice that day, as it was Friday, and a particular concert was being put on at the nearby symphony hall that night. Dewey hadn't exactly said he had a date, but he'd coyly mentioned that Miss Mullins was joining him, and from the faces of his fellow band mates, they'd been able to put two and two together.

Freddy had gone from mess to wreck to complete and total disaster over the past few days. He hadn't bothered with his hair as of late, and it had the just-got-out-of-bed look. His lips were kind of chapped, and his skin exceptionally pale. He looked sick, thin, and a little ragged. The sunglasses that usually adorned his face were no where in sight, which gave a shocking view of his long-time unseen eyes, sullen and sunken in. He was tapping one of the snare drums apathetically with his stick, staring at it as though it were transparent. He barely glanced up when Dewey entered the room, not even bothering to acknowledge the older man's presence.

"What's going on, Spazzy McGee?" Dewey asked cautiously, "Shouldn't you be somewhere? Like the void of education some call school?" The drummer said nothing, shrugging slightly, before putting his drumsticks down on the snare and lifting himself up, walking towards the kitchen. Dewey drew his brows together, immediately feeling the weight of concern. "So, what's up, Freddy?"

"Nothing."

"Only one more week until the big day," Dewey went on, coming to stand by the couch and waiting for some spark of usual cheer to awaken in his companion, "You ready to rock?"

"Yeah. Sure. Whatever."

"Dude, I know you want to cream this Kyle kid," Dewey prodded, certain that would get a rise.

"Un," Freddy mumbled. His voice was so dry, raspy. He hadn't been drinking his doctor recommended daily amount of water, that was for certain. Dewey ran a hand through his hair, taking a moment to exhale deeply.

"You gonna tell me what's up?" he said, taking a heavily serious tone. Freddy flinched slightly, opening Dewey's fridge and rummaging through it, before removing a cola.

"I suck," he muttered, "I'm a horrible person, and you were wrong."

"What are you talking about?" Dewey slowly questioned, worry edging his voice.

"I fucked up, alright. I don't even remember what I fucked up, but I'm sure I really fucked it up big time," Freddy stammered, "And I just don't want to talk about it!"

"Uh…alright, I guess we'll just…"

"Look…uh…can I ask you something?" Freddy cut in, and Dewey was taken aback.

"Yeah, sure. Shoot."

"Well…uh…I…I…uh…have this friend, yeah, this friend…and there's this girl whose…well…she's perfect," Freddy started, furrowing his brow, "But she thinks she's…well…not, and I - _my friend _- thinks that she's…well…he thinks she's…he really likes her. He thinks she's amazing and…I don't know," he paused, eyes fixated on the ground and wearing the look of one who'd just realized something. Quietly he mumbled, "He really…kind of…loves her. But he…he's really not good enough for her. And she doesn't think she's very good for him, she wants him to be with someone else."

"Oh," Dewey mouthed, scratching his chin, "Why does…your friend, think he's not good enough for this girl?"

"Well…really, he's not. He's kind of…he kind of thinks he's a tough guy," Freddy shrugged, "He acts up in school, he gets bad grades, and he…he's not the greatest of people. He drinks a lot, and hasn't really ever been with one girl at a time, before. He doesn't exactly have a history for treating girls right, either. He ditches school, and he kind of…acts like everything's a big joke. He's a real fuck up."

"Oh," Dewey nodded, "So he's kind of a jackass?"

"He's more of a spoiled brat," Freddy admitted, sheepishly running a hand over the back of his neck, "At first he thought he only wanted this girl, because she was dating some other guy, a guy he really hates. But now she's not, and he really realizes…it wasn't about the guy, it was about her. That he maybe even….well…liked her before she was dating that guy, and that when she started dating the guy…it kind of made him see how much he really felt for her…and…yeah."

"But she's not interested?"

"I - _he _thinks she is," Freddy shrugged, "But like I said, she told him there was this other girl he should be with. And, yeah, this other girl is nice, sweet, pretty, and would be a good girlfriend."

"But it's not the girl he wants," Dewey concluded.

"Yeah. I - _he_ likes the other girl, he just doesn't feel the same way about her."

"Well, why does the first girl think he should be with this other girl?"

"I don't know," Freddy cried, throwing his hands up and shaking his head, turning away, "This girl, the girl I - _my friend _- wants to date…she's beautiful, and smart, and…she really cares, and she really understands him. But it's like she doesn't even realize how great a person she is. She makes m-er-_him_ feel like he could be a good person too, like maybe he is a better person than he thinks, and that, if it's for her, he can be a good guy."

"But she thinks this other girl is all those things that this friend of yours thinks she is?"

"Yeah…I guess…I don't know."

"Huh. Your friend does not sound like he's in a very pretty situation."

"Tell me about it," Freddy muttered.

"I don't know what to tell you, dude," Dewey sighed, stretching somewhat and placing his hands on his hips, "Maybe he should try talking to this girl he likes, telling her how he feels."

"He's not very good at talking about that crap."

"Oh. Well…that sounds like the biggest problem there. If he really likes this girl, he's going to need to talk his feelings out with her, and all that shit. I know it sounds lame, but chicks dig when a guy tells her about his feelings and emotions and all that junk."

"There's kind of another problem, actually," Freddy murmured, clearing his throat, and peeking over to his portly friend, "He was kind of feeling like…really shitty one night, and he may have gotten drunk and called the girl up he likes and…well…said a lot of things. For a minute, I think he even considered going out with the other girl, no matter how much it would hurt her, being put in the middle of it all."

"He did _what_?" Dewey cried, "He called her up when he was drunk? What did he say?"

"I…uh…he…uh…kinda can't remember."

"Oh well, sounds like he's pretty screwed. Is the girl mad at him? That's a good way to figure out exactly how bad the things he said were."

"He doesn't know," Freddy admitted, scratching the back of his head, "He's kind of been avoiding her. I…_…he_ knows that what he said was really bad, horrible even. And he doesn't want to see her hurting because of him."

"I don't know what to tell you, Freddy," Dewey mumbled, "I guess you could…I don't know…tell your friend to apologize, explain himself, and try and tell her how he feels. I know it's really hard, but if the girl's everything you said she is, and this friend of yours really feels all those things you say he does, then I guess…you know…he can't risk losing her, can he?"

"Maybe he's already lost her," Freddy mumbled, before closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath, "I guess you're right. Thanks, Dewey."

"No problem." They fell silent, digesting each other's words. "Hey," Dewey spoke up, "Uh…since you're not in school and I don't have anything to do for a while, you want to go get something to eat? Dude, you're wasting away, and frankly, I think we need to put some grub in your gut." Freddy smirked slightly, placing a hand over his stomach.

"I really haven't had an appetite lately," he shrugged, "But I guess I could eat."

"Good," Dewey grinned, coming to put a hand on Freddy's shoulder and steer the younger boy towards the door while grabbing his coat, "Let's get some burgers."

The two companions ate in silence. Dewey quickly finished his burger and fries off, and drank three glasses of soda. Freddy picked at his burger, and ate a few fries, before pushing his plate off to Dewey, who didn't mind downing the extra food. It was around three when Dewey dropped the young man off at the Jones' Estate. And then, with Led Zeppelin pounding from his radio and not a thought in his mind, Dewey returned to his apartment. He was greeted by Ned, going over paperwork.

"What's going on, man?" Dewey said, and Ned nodded to him.

"Just going over the lease for this apartment," Ned answered casually, and Dewey perked at that.

"And?"

"It's up next month," Ned shrugged, trying to appear as though the subject were not very interesting. Dewey sensed otherwise.

"And?"

"Well," Ned sighed, before grimacing awkwardly up at his friend, "I was thinking maybe…you know…we don't renew it."

"What?" Dewey cried, "But, dude, this is where School of Rock lives! If we don't renew the apartment lease, where do we go? What happens to School of Rock? Are you trying to say something about the band? About the school? Do you think Battle of the Bands will be it…"

"That's not what I'm trying to say at all," Ned interjected, "In fact, I'm saying just the opposite. We're growing, Dewey. I've got a lot of kids enrolled for rock lessons. We've quadrupled since opening, the bands doing well, and money's good. I was thinking…maybe we should get a bigger place." Dewey's mouth dropped, and slowly his lips turned up into an impish grin. He shook his finger at Ned, and with each vibration, his smile widened.

"You…you really freaked me out there, man," Dewey exclaimed, before hopping over and slapping his arms around Ned, then bounding off and leaving a very shaken up man behind, "Dude, this is awesome! This is a great idea! A bigger apartment will be so kick ass!"

"Well, actually, Dewey," Ned spoke up, having broken from his shock of the exuberant reaction, "I'm thinking, what with the money we have saved and our steady in-flow of cash, we might look into getting a house."

"A house?" Dewey cried, "Man, I've never lived in a house! Are you serious? Imagine all the new instruments and equipment we could fit in! And we could have longer practices, not having to worry about cranky neighbors and breaking any building codes and shit…man, this is so awesome! When do we move?"

"We could start looking now, actually. I picked up some real estate magazines and…"

"No, wait," Dewey frowned, shaking his head, "No can do."

"What? Why not?"

"I'm going somewhere, and I really got to get ready."

"Where are you going?" Ned questioned, scrunching his nose and looking a bit hurt.

"I…uh…have a hot date," Dewey smirked, heading up towards the bathroom with the intention of showering. Ned's eyebrows jumped up, and he quirked his head.

"With who?" he questioned coyly.

"Uh…"

"Anyone I know."

"Well…"

"A Miss Rosalyn Mullins, maybe?"

"What?" Dewey spun around, "How'd you know?" A sedate smile glazed over Ned's face.

"Call it a wild guess," he chuckled, "You crazy kids try not to get into any trouble, alright?"

"Whatever, dude," Dewey laughed, shaking his head, and entering the bathroom. He started the shower up and Ned lifted a magazine, flipping through it and casually scanning the tiny pictured houses.

"So where were you all afternoon, anyways?" he called.

"Huh? Oh, I went out with Freddy. We chatted a little, and I fed him. Poor kid, something's really bugging him," Dewey shouted reply, muffled by the bathroom door.

"He didn't tell you about it, though?"

"Nah. All he did was talk to me about some friend of his having girl troubles. What a great guy, huh? Something's seriously tearing him apart inside, and he's still got the heart to worry about his friends," Dewey yelled. Ned scrunched his nose, then nodded.

"Yeah. Freddy's a good kid."

0-0-

Miss Mullins took a moment to straighten her hair once more, after a final glance into the mirror, before hastily walking to the door and casually swinging it open. She had dressed in tight-fitting blue jeans and a loose t-shirt, trying not to overdress for the occasion. She wanted to give off a slack appearance, and still manage to look like herself. Not to mention, she wanted to look hot. She couldn't help but smile upon seeing Dewey standing before her holding up a flower he probably picked from a neighbor's garden. She took the pretty weed, and thanked him, inviting him in. He'd combed his hair, and was wearing clean corduroy slacks. He gave the impression of a decent guy, and if she didn't know better, Miss Mullins would even go so far as to say a gainfully employed, straight laced, law-abiding, god-fearing man.

"My lady," he greeted, donning a mock French accent, and in a fanciful curtsy, took Miss Mullins hand and brushed a kiss to the top. She blushed, and shook her head in embarrassment. He straightened and looked around the small apartment. It wasn't his first time over, but he seemed to be taking a moment to examine things, as though he'd never seen them before.

"I hope the seats are good," Miss Mullins spoke up, clearing her throat slightly to gain his attention, which he willingly gave, "Did you want to get something to eat after the concert?"

"That'd be awesome," Dewey nodded. He helped her slip her coat on, then extended his arm, which she took. Opening the door, they strode out and clambered into his run-down old van. He paused, having pushed the keys in the ignition, to really take in Miss Mullins's appearance, "You look really nice, tonight."

"Oh," Miss Mullins flustered, "Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, you always look nice. But this laid back look, I really like it. It works on you," he continued, and she blushed, "And you know, you got a really nice body. It's hard to tell, sometimes, with the dress suits." Her eyes widened at the, seemingly, lewd comment, then a smile creased her features. Dewey revved the engine, as though he hadn't even said anything, and pulled from the small street onto the highway. He motioned to the radio, a few minutes into the ride, "Put something on. My CDs are in the dashboard, or you can choose whatever radio station you want."

"Oh, yeah," Miss Mullins mumbled, reaching forward to pop the glove compartment open and rifle through the CD case set inside. She found one that seemed to catch her eye and slipped it into the player. Rhythmic beats pounded out and Dewey smiled at her.

"Poison. Solid choice," he commented, leaning back, and watching her get comfortable.

"God, remember when this album first came out?" she whispered, slightly moving her head to the music, "They were really rockin'. I must have listened to 'Every Rose Has Its Thorn' a bazillion times."

"Yeah, good song."

"I love it," Miss Mullins shook her head, "I knew every word, and," she turned a deep pink, "I would sing it all the time. My roommates would get so mad at me, shouting it at the top of my lungs in the shower. But it was…well, one of my favorites."

"You sing in the shower?" Dewey exclaimed, glancing at her with a bit of shock. She turned pinker, if it were possible, and nodded sheepishly, "Man, I wouldn't mind seeing that," then, shaking his head, and wincing at how perverted that sound, "I mean…hearing you sing. I'd like to hear you sing Poison or something, sometime."

"Oh well," Miss Mullins flushed, "I'm really not that good."

"You know what," Dewey announced, an idea suddenly popping in his mind, "We should go to a karaoke bar sometime."

"What? Oh, I've never…done that…I don't know if I could…"

"That settles it then," Dewey cried, "I'm taking you karaoking. It'll be fun. I know if I put a few drinks in you and turn Stevie Nicks on, I can get you to really belt it." Miss Mullins eyes went wide in embarrassment, and she shook her head, "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll get on stage with you."

"Well…"

"Come on, Ros," Dewey pressed, arching an eyebrow, "_Ros_. Please, it'll be cool!"

"I…"

"Come on…"

"Okay, okay," Miss Mullins gave in, shaking her head, beat red, "You are so persistent." Dewey grinned, giving a zealous shout of triumph.

"You will not regret it," he told her, "It'll be such a blast. Maybe we could get the kids to come, Ned even…" Miss Mullins nodded, feeling a little less sick at the idea knowing it would be more of a party. She couldn't imagine just singing with Dewey there, she didn't have that kind of bravery.

They pulled off the road to the symphony hall, and Dewey crossed over to swing the door open and help Miss Mullins out. Together they walked up towards the hall, a crowd of shouting people already surrounding the building. Dewey took hold of Miss Mullins's hand so as not to lose her in the bustle of people, and she intertwined their fingers, skipping up the sidewalk with him as they breezed to the entrance and flashed their tickets. The usher showed them in, and Dewey led her to their seats.

They'd just barely made it as the opening bands took the stage for brief jam sessions. And then the lights dimmed, and Stevie Nicks took the floor. Dewey watched the light shine in Miss Mullins's eyes as she stood, jumping up and down, dancing to the beat. Her hair fell wildly about her face, which gleamed with happiness, and she moved gracefully to the songs. By the second set, she was damp with sweat, and fell back to her seat, worn and weary. And then Beauty and the Beast started up, and she straightened, her eyes glazed over as she stared down at the blonde form of her favorite singer. Her mouth moved to the lyrics, and Dewey moved forward. He touched her cheek, softly, and she flickered her eyes to meet his, almost as though she'd just seen him for the first time. And then his fingers slipped behind her neck and he drew her forward into a kiss, brushing her hair with his hand, and tucking it behind her ear. He was surprised when she didn't push him away, even more surprised when she moved forward to deepen the delicately intimate touch. When they finally pulled apart, Dewey trailed his fingers along her jaw line, and met her eyes.

"You're really kind of cool, you know that," he whispered, a bit breathlessly. She smiled, before leaning forward and initiating another kiss.

* * *

END A/N: WOw, this one had a lot of mush. Blech. I really didn't like this chapter.

Well...this sucks. This is the last of my chapters that I have all written up. Which means the possibility the next chapter is up on time is very slim. Ihave to do some serious writing. Don't fret though, guys, I have the last chapters planned to a "T".

Was there anything else I needed to say? OH! I forgot to thank dgmbf4ev for the review on the chapter before last. I think that's it.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors, and REVIEW!

Thanks for Reading, and I am OUT!


	16. Best Friends Forever

A/N: Yay! It's not..well...that late...

Reviewers, behold, my replies!

closetwriter: Yup. Finally some lovey-dovey-ness on Tomika and Lawrence's end. There's been a lot going on between Summer and Freddy, just no real lovey-dovey mush. I'm glad you liked that "Freddy's Friend" conversation.

Parcie05: The chapter didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, I think. It was short, and way too mushy and fluffy for my tastes. But, if the reader's liked it, then it was worth writing. And yes, all things must come to an end. Unfortunately, that means my story too….I'll probably cry when it does. I hate ending stories.

wyverna: Your favoritest? So flattering! I do love your new story, though, and I hope you continue soon. Mmm…yeah, Freddy and Summer have very different, yet, very similar home lives. I don't even think I know all the differences, actually….Yeah, I get the whole, having a funny vibe one day, and the next losing it, thing. It's pretty much the same with all writing. Or anything creative you do in life, for that matter. Try going a day without using the word whatever. It would be a fun way to challenge yourself. Me and my friend at work (she doesn't work there anymore) used to exchange letters. We had a binder we kept them in. One day she challenged us to not use the word "the" anymore in our letters. It was a real pain in the ass. But it's a good way to expand your mind and abilities and junk. Mm…when did you first start listening to Greenday? Haushinka is your least favorite song? I'll have to pull my CD out and listen to it, as I can't really remember it right now. I got two new Greenday CDs as well. Shenanigans and Insomniac. I know I'm right about American Idiot. (Did that sound conceited?) What a bitch, taking the CD like that. How rude. I actually bought the limited edition American Idiot CD off amazon, which included this super cool colorful booklet of, like…I think 50 pages, and it was super neat. I wouldn't let my dad burn my CD though. I told him that he had to go buy his own if he wanted one, because Greenday is my favorite band, and by buying their CD, instead of burning it, it's supporting them and their work and encouraging them to continue. That's why I don't burn CDs. I prefer to buy. Pressure Points a good song, yeah. The Zutons kind of sound, to me, like a mixture of Blondie, Stray Cats, and…I believe I said…Maroon5. And yeah, I get that.

Unlikely-to-bear-it: Yup, Ros/Dewey fluff is fun. Zack/Katie fluff? We'll see what happens. I can't guarantee anything, it's all got to fall in line of the story.

IndesElfwine: Dewey/Ros is hard to come by, isn't it? And yes, Alicia is pretty damn cool. It isn't so. See, up on time! Sort of….

Rachel: Huh? You were reading my reply to wyverna? But that's my reply to wyverna. Nobody said you could read it. Are you wyverna? Huh? Huh? Okay. That's enough of that. I'm just joshing you. Greenday is grand, isn't it? I love them so much. Billy Joe just has this voice, that's just…amazing. He's like…the voice of punk rock, I guess. I don't know what it is about his voice, but I really love it. And there songs, the lyrics are amazing. There one of the few bands, these days, that put out albums where the whole CD is good. That you can actually listen to the whole thing without wanting to skip around. That reminds me. I've decided to go to the next Greenday concert that comes to town, so I have to check out that information….bummer that it sold out so fast where you are….something tells me it might sell out fast here too. Interestingly enough for me, most all of those have to be true if I'm going to listen to something. They have to actually be musicians, instead of these little performers that most of them are. Brittany Spears for instance, is a performer. She gets on stage and doe s this little act, and that's how she's gotten so far. She's not even an artist. Calling her an artist is an insult to artists everywhere. She can't sing, first off, she can't play an instrument, she can't writer her own music. You know what I saw at the CD store the other day. Brittany Spears's Greatest Hits CD. Doesn't she have to have a greatest hit before she can put that kind of CD out? What is our world coming to? And Ashlee Simpson? I don't understand how people could watch her show and still listen to her! She can't sing, which was obvious from the show. They actually showed her in the recording studio trying to hit a note that she couldn't. That whole CD of hers is a cut and paste job. My dad hates her. Yeah, Ashlee Simpson is not rock. She's barely even music. And yeah, Christian Aguilera can really belt it. Why would I think you're any of those things? I'm really the same way. I can go off on a tangent about all my opinions and people will…well, they listen. Because I'm pretty opinionated, yet…I still have a very open-mind. Yeah. I've read a lot of really unrealistic stories, and I usually want to either flame the author (which I've done sometimes, if it's really bad and just a mockery of writing) or just stop reading and soundly beat myself over the head with a mallet. I can think of a few stories that need to be updated soon….and thanks for understanding my "plea".

vaguely specific: Am I a celebrity? Yeah, it was cool. I'm glad I didn't offend you, because I can be pretty brutally honest sometimes, and people's feelings get hurt and I don't even notice, because I don't think they should be hurt. I'm just telling them the truth, right? And why should my opinion matter so much to them? Don't they have opinions of their own? I'm glad you didn't hate the ending and that that's a little cleared up. I think I made it clear that I am evil. Haven't I? I think I've flamed before. I feel bad about it, because I never like to tell any aspiring writer to quit or discourage them in any way. I know that writing is an art form and like any art takes time to flourish. It's when people don't demonstrate respect to the fact that writing is an art form, and just think they can throw words on paper and that's writing, when I get pissed. Speaking of art forms, I agree with you on the matter that most modern "musicians" (though most of them aren't really musicians at all, in my opinion, but rather performers) don't take the time to realize that what they're doing is an art form. Most modern "musicians" rely on their lyrics to get the message out, rather than the sound of their instrument (and that's if they play an instrument, and voice, if you use it right, counts as an instrument in my book). They don't let their music do the talking and their lyrics suck for the most part anyways. Have you ever listened to Greenday (my favorite band). Because they fit that criteria you have. And would you say that Aerosmith did a decent cover for "Come Together" by the Beatles? Oh, and what about Limp Bizket's version of the Who's song "Behind Blue Eyes". I didn't think they did badly with it, but the original is still better. Yup, the pairings were fun to write, I suppose. I thought a concert was more Dewey/Ros-ish, if you ask me. Concerts are the perfect date, aren't they? No, Dewey didn't get it. Ned might have possibly considered for a moment that Freddy was speaking about himself, but he couldn't have been certain (as he wasn't there) so he tossed that idea aside. It wasn't so much that it got on Freddy's nerves, rather the things his dad said really pushed him over the top. Well, I guess it was getting on his nerves, too. No, it's not sad. Sort of…not really. And yeah, talk to me whenever I'm on. That's why I put my screen name on my bio, so that you peeps could come chat with me. And yay, I'm special.

dozengirl: hehe…I liked writing that conversation out between Dewey and Freddy. I wanted him to get advice from someone, without them knowing he was getting it for himself, if that makes any sense at all.

Nanners-77: Yeah, Dewey's oblivious. I'm not really hugely fond of Poison, they're a good band, but not on my top ten favorites list. They're an eighties rock band, what can I say? Yay, Canada! Canada is apart of America, you know. North America includes Mexico, Canada, and the U.S. Geography lesson! I've yet to go to a karaoke bar. No one will go with me…aw…I feel so sad…yeah, Freddy better perk up soon, or else…or else…I'll kill Summer off! Huh? What? What am I talking about? No…wait…crap. Anyways…I'm trying to keep Dewey and Miss Mullins in character, but Dewey is really hard to write, the bastard….damn Jack Black for his eccentricities….and damn him, because I can't hate him! He's too wonderful…sniffles…he's Canadian, isn't he? Or am I on drugs?

Alex: I get called scary all the time…..and I don't type in caps a lot. I care a lot about everybody…sometimes. Sometimes I'm indifferent. But then, that's just me. But, what am I talking about? I keep losing track of my heads. God, this house is hot. Witches' Ghost? Um…I don't know. I can't remember any of the songs, so I might not have found them too great. Of course, I've only seen that movie once, anyways, so…lot's of sweetness in that chapter. Not so much in this one, at least I don't think so. I don't remember what I wrote. Erm…yeah, poor Freddy, letting himself go like that. It's a good thing Summer doesn't love him for his pretty looks, like other girls out there.

dgmbf4ev: More about Freddy. Tomika/Lawrence, fun stuff like that. I know the summary kind of makes it seem like Kyle and the Battle of the Bands are hugely the plot, and the rest of this is sub-plot, but it's actually the opposite. Kyle and the Battle of the Bands are more of the sub-plot. I didn't want Kyle to be in the story too much, just enough to rile things up. And his plan doesn't come into affect until later.

iamnotachipmunk: Yup. Freddy needs a hug. And I read your new story, and I hope you continue it soon. Did you get my review? I'm not an alcoholic, I swear.

pancake whackee: Fucking computer. The only thing that matters is you're back. And things are going smoothly now, I hope? You laughed at that line? Good. It was supposed to be funny. I'm glad everything between Dewey and Ros is believable. They're both really hard characters to write…but I love romances between them, and yeah, there's not enough of those. I never talked about reasons why people drink in Health class. Do I remember Health class? Maybe we did….I don't remember Health class…god, that was a while ago. Huh. Train of though de-railed…hehe….Wayne's World! Party on! Excellent! Best part of that whole movie is in the car when they're singing to Bohemian Rhapsody. To this day, I do not know a person who has seen that movie and can listen to that song without head banging during that instrumental solo. The reason behind the title…um…well, my story needed a title…and I got to thinking about school…and that the school's lie to us about a lot of crap…and that I started thinking about the general cliché ideas, that are really just lies that everyone believes, and then I realized it ties in with my story, so I put it as the title. And that is why. And yes, I like your name. It's funny cool. Do I smell fanfic writing on the way? I love long reviews, and Rock on yourself!

Vampirehelsing: A hopeless romantic as well, I see? I'm generally not too fond of mush, but I can deal with it. Thanks for the review!

That's everybody.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 16: Best Friends Forever 

Lunch with Mr. Philbur was scheduled on Saturday. Summer's mother practically had to drag the young woman from bed, shove her in the shower, brush her hair, clothe and feed her. Summer was simply not being cooperative, and her mother was not happy. She yelled a great deal, cursed at her daughter, but the girl was unresponsive, headphones secure over her head.

"I know, it's only rock n' roll, but I like it," Summer sang in an off-key murmur, plucking at the buttons on her blouse, undoing and redoing them. Her mother was finishing getting ready upstairs, and Summer was thankful that the older woman had finally left her alone. She felt the headphones yank from her head, and spun in surprise. Upon seeing who it was, she lowered her head.

"You sound like a cat dying," Austin sneered, taking a seat at the breakfast table across from her and tossing her headphones down. Summer shook her head, turning her CD player off, "Your stupid meeting is today?"

"Yeah. If I do everything exactly as we rehearsed, chances are, I won't screw up. I don't see why she didn't just set it up for you," Summer mumbled, "At least you want to go to college."

"Oh, don't give me that bull, you want to go to college too," Austin snapped, then under his breath, "And you know why mom won't set it up for me."

"She doesn't hate you," Summer whispered. She got a snort for a response, and straightened indignantly, "She hates us both, if that makes you feel any better."

"Just because I don't want to go to Harvard or some big Ivy league crap like that," he went on, and Summer was silent, considering returning to her music, "I can't wait until I get out of this hell hole. Away from you, and away from her. And you know where she can stick her damn ideas about me joining the air force? I'm not following in dad's footsteps."

"It's not that bad an idea," Summer commented, and Austin's head snapped up, locking eyes with her. She fell silent.

"Then you join the air force," he spat. She shook her head, slipping her headphones back over her ears, and closing her eyes. She didn't turn the music on, listening to her brother continue with his rant beneath his breath, "To hell with her, to hell with you. I'm going to California, and I'm getting the fuck away from all of you…all the way to the other side of the states, if I have to…" His words became an angry droll and it took her a moment to realize when he was speaking to her again. She peeked out at him, staring at her scathingly. She pulled the phones back and a gave a look of inquiry, "I said," he seethed, "When's the meeting?"

"In an hour."

"Oh," he shuffled, dipping his spoon into the bowl sitting front of him and giving his attention to his cereal and milk, "What about your boyfriend? Aren't you going to see him today?"

"I don't have a boyfriend anymore," Summer said quietly, returning to the buttons on her blouse. She was surprised when Austin didn't take the opportunity to insult her. They were silent, the only sound was Austin munching on his Cheerios.

"You were crying, the other night. Was that why," he commented, as though simply stating a fact, "Or was it that blonde kid, again?" Summer shifted uncomfortably.

"That's none of your business," she whispered, trying to sound frigid and firm. He glanced up, then moving awkwardly. He snorted.

"Whatever. I don't see why you don't just date him, already?" he muttered apathetically, before rigidly standing and taking his bowl to the kitchen sink. Summer felt her face warm, and her cheeks flush, her heart pounding in her chest. Her tongue felt swollen, and she couldn't manage to say anything as her brother bounded up the stairs to retreat back to his room.

Her mother came down the stairs in a prim manner, and motioned towards the door. Summer stood weakly, and followed the older woman out to the car, shaken by the blatant statement Austin had made. Were her feelings really so readable even to her distant brother, when she herself couldn't decipher them?

The drive was silent. Summer slipped her headphones back into place and turned her Stones CD on in an attempt to shut out the quiet tension. It really didn't work, so she opted to turning the volume on full blast and staring out her window. The meeting was set up at a small café. It would just be Mr. Philbur, no perfect blonde wife at his side. Summer felt relieved by this. If she messed up in some way, it would just be in front of one well-groomed sophisticate, instead of two.

The café was in the upper class area, nearly a half-hour drive from the Hathaway house. It was small, with little French style tables set up on the sidewalk in front of the tall glass store windows. A few people sat here and there, sipping tea or coffee, eating little pastries and chatting cheerfully. Summer felt her stomach lurch at the quaint restaurant. It was bright, sunny, and cute. A few of Summer's least favorite things at that moment. She wanted to be locked in the dark confines of her room blasting her rock music and staring at the ceiling blankly wondering why Freddy was hurting her, and hurting himself, and why they, two arguably intelligent young adults, couldn't seem to figure out the seeming hormonal attraction between them.

Her mother pulled the car along the sidewalk and parked. They stepped out, and Summer waited as her mother put a few quarters in the meter. Then they walked up towards the café, easily spotting the elder man, Mr. Philbur, at a small white table reading the Wallstreet Journal. He folded it up and smiled broadly when he saw the two women, standing to shake their hands.

"Summer, Mrs. Hathaway, it's good to see you both again. I trust you're both well?" he greeted. Summer forced her flawless smile into place, and nodded her head.

"Yes, everything is fine. Thank you," she chirped, fighting the urge to wince at how fake she sounded, "And how is everything with you and Mrs. Philbur?"

"Great, actually," Mr. Philbur returned, with a warm look Summer's way, "Have a seat. We'll take a look over the menus, decide what's good."

They all sat, as though synchronized, and Summer folded her hands neatly in her lap, crossing her ankles like a real lady, her back straight the way she had been raised to sit. Immediately the phony mannerism of a determined, well-adjusted, and brilliant, driven, college hopeful lady overtook her. She was so intent on forgetting Freddy, that the traits ingrained in her mind from long hours of training by her mother came almost sub-consciously. No, there would be no slip-ups that day. She would be the picturesque prep student, and that thought alone made her feel somewhat queasy. When had it started mattering so much, this acting? Hadn't she always loved playing the little business shark, with her dress suits and neatly combed hair?

Well, she had wanted to be a cowgirl once, living an unruly lifestyle. But that was a childish ambition, not ironically day-dreamed up when she was a child.

They glanced over their menus, Summer's mother and Mr. Philbur commenting on what "looked good". The waitress came and took their orders, then left to turn it into the cooks. Mr. Philbur then leaned forward, looking to Summer pleasantly.

"So, how has school been?" he asked, and she beamed, as she had been taught do.

"Oh, splendid," she cheerfully remarked. _It sucks and everyday is like pulling teeth._

"Good, that's good. And how are your grades?"

"A's, of course," she answered without hesitation, receiving a nod of approval from her mother. _Well, they've actually been suffering recently, and I'm no longer the highest in a few of my classes._

"And outside of school, what have you been up to?" Mr. Philbur questioned, and Summer flickered a glance her mother's way. There was expectancy in those dark eyes, and Summer knew what answers the older woman wanted her to give. She took a steadying breath.

"Well, I'm considering taking the clarinet back up," _Not going to happen in this lifetime, ever_, "Usually, I spend after school time to study," _Haven't cracked a book open at home in days_, "I sometimes go out with friends," _I barely acknowledge them at school, let alone see them outside of it_, "And of course, I spend time with my family." _We might as well all live on different planets, apparently family is just a word without meaning in our house._

"Sounds good," Mr. Philbur nodded, though he gave the impression he was somewhat disappointed in the answer, which confused Summer. It was the response she'd been taught to give. It was the answer that showed she was devoted to her schoolwork, but was not a workaholic, exhibiting a well-rounded social life and a well-adjusted home environment. It was the type of answer men in Mr. Philbur's position looked for in their scholarship applicants.

"She's going to be doing some charity work, as well," Summer's mother put in, and Summer flinched inwardly. She knew she'd forgotten to mention something. Mr. Philbur nodded thoughtfully. Then, he straightened, as though suddenly struck with an epiphany.

"So…tell me about this band you manage," he started, but Summer's mother quickly cut in.

"She's giving that up. It's not really the direction she wishes to pursue. She began it with her friends, but she feels it would be better if she returned to a more serious focus on her priorities. It's become too much of a distraction."

Summer lowered her eyes, as Mr. Philbur arched his brows and nodded, his mouth forming a silent "oh". She felt a pronounced sting in her chest. She could only imagine how this pristine perfectionist satisfied the alumnus. She didn't doubt how pleased he was. She flickered her eyes up when her mother's hand fell over her arm, a jolting reminder that she was supposed to be bright and cheerful, not sulking. She turned a wide smile back up to Mr. Philbur.

"Summer loves the clarinet, however," Mrs. Hathaway went on, "She used to play it when she was younger, but then this whole band matter…just one of those many things this whole ordeal distracted her from. What with the little band, she didn't have time for the clarinet. Now that she's leaving it, she'll have plenty of time to get back to the things she truly loves. Isn't that right, Summer?"

"Yes, mother," Summer answered through gritted teeth, trying to keep the façade up, even as she was trembling under the pressure of her emotions.

"The clarinet is a good instrument. It has a clear sound, very pleasant, elegant," Mr. Philbur mused, nodding his head, "A very classical choice. What would you say is your favorite piece to play?"

"I…" Summer blushed, glancing once more to her mother, "I haven't played in awhile…" She prayed for a subject change.

"Ah, I suppose you haven't," Mr. Philbur conceded, looking a bit disappointedly to his napkin. Summer's mother pursed her lips.

"I hope you don't mind if I excuse myself to the ladies' room," she announced, and Mr. Philbur smiled to her.

"Of course not."

"Summer…" Summer's mother looked to her, standing and tapping her foot somewhat expectantly. Waiting for her daughter to accompany her with a similar excuse. Mr. Philbur cleared his throat.

"Ah, she'll be fine," he told the impatient woman, who looked a bit taken aback, "It'll give me a chance to talk privately with her. A little one on one."

"Oh…but, Summer may need to…"

"She's fine," Mr. Philbur interrupted, "Am I right, Summer?" He looked to the young girl almost conspiratorially, and a flicker of his eye made her wonder if he'd just winked as though they shared a secret. Was this old man giving her an opportunity to escape her mother's hawk-like eyes for a short period of time? She didn't dwell too long on it, grinning up to her mother.

"Yes, we'll be fine, mom. Mr. Philbur and I can chat," she piped perkily. Her mother frowned slightly, but nodded, turning and walking slowly up towards the restrooms, glancing back over her shoulder every now and then. Summer took a deep breath, looking to Mr. Philbur with her forced smile, "So…Mr. Philbur…"

"You can relax now," he told her quietly.

"Excuse me?" Summer stammered, shocked.

"I'm not judging you on your acting abilities," he insisted, then smirking as he saw the shock and confusion in her eyes, "It's been my experience that young interviewees tend to put on a great display for their parents' sake…sometimes it's even perpetrated by their parents. But, you're mother is gone, you don't have to worry about that for a short moment. I wouldn't mind chatting with you for awhile, instead of an extension of her."

"Oh," Summer murmured, then slumping forward, "I'm sorry…I don't mean to…"

"It's alright. John Lennon should have put in the line 'Imagine there's no mothers,'," Mr. Philbur laughed, and Summer looked up at him in stun, speechless.

"What?" she sputtered, in complete shock.

Mr. Philbur scrunched his nose, "Last time we spoke, you quoted John Lennon as your choice of greatest composer of the last century. You can't tell me you haven't heard of his song, 'Imagine'. It's one of his most popular. I know it's not a Beatles song but I'd hoped you'd at least be aware…"

"I know the song, Mr. Philbur, I'm just a little surprised that you…"

"Know the song?" Mr. Philbur interjected, another laugh, "Oh, come on, Summer. Beatles were my time, I should be surprised that you even like that old stuff. I thought kids your age all listened to this…what is it…hip hop?"

"Some of us still like to rock," Summer found herself chuckling, "But at dinner, I was under the impression that…"

"An old fogy can't appreciate classical music and rock as well? Please," Mr. Philbur snorted, waving his hand, dismissing the very idea, "I was at the first Woodstock. Oh, you look surprised now. I will tell you this, the first was legendary. These other one's they keep putting on…posh. Amateurish, foolish, and lacking in the general spirit of what the first was all about. Crowd surfing tattoo covered artists screaming their lyrics into a microphone, and burning down a few towers, that's vandalism and reckless delinquency. Standing in knee-deep mud, a peace sign drawn on your bare chest, arms slapped around strangers of all race, ethnicity and creed, while listening to Janis Joplin bearing her soul on stage…now that is what music is all about."

"You saw _Janis Joplin_," Summer gasped, eyes wide in admiration, "Her voice…is amazing. So, you listen to the old stuff, but what about classic rock? Hardcore. Like AC/DC, Aerosmith, The Who? Led Zeppelin? Motorhead?"

"Let's see…AC/DC are great to sing along to in the shower, Helen loves my rendition of Hells Bells, The Who are definite car music…I can't go anywhere without at least one of their CDs, and you haven't listened to Aerosmith until you've heard them in concert. I've also seen Dire Straits, Foreigner, and Jimi Hendrix in concert, and then Nirvana…"

"You listen to Nirvana," Summer squealed, practically leaning over the table and boiling over with excitement, her arms all prickled.

"It was a sad thing, when Cobain left us. He was a great songwriter, himself. But yes, I'm not all oldies and classic. I listen to the Chilli Peppers, Blink 182...now they're good in concert, Greenday as well."

"I just can't picture you at one of these concerts," Summer shook her head, "I'm sorry."

"Well, I can't picture you giving up managing a rock band, or anything, you so obviously love, for that matter."

Summer faltered, suddenly downcast.

"Ah," Mr. Philbur mumbled, "So I hit it on the nail."

"Well…my mother and I have discussed it, and she -_ we­ _feel that universities would not look highly on my managing a rock band. That it's not really what they - or you yourself, sir - look for in their applicants."

"Actually, Summer, I'll let you in on a little secret," Mr. Philbur said, leaning forward and looking directly into her eyes, "It's just that kind of diversity that institutions, on both the ivy league and liberal level, look for in students. And the truth be told, Summer, it's the reason I asked for this second meeting. You see, music is one of the loves of my life, and when I saw that spark in you, the passing mention of a great songwriter, and the light in your eyes when you spoke of managing a rock band, I thought to myself…this girl would be perfect for my scholarship. This is the kind of student I would like to see succeed. I would have to say, I'm sorely disappointed if you're seriously considering leaving the rock band behind." Summer lowered her eyes, a great deal of sorrow washing over her and, somehow relief as well, so overwhelming, that her perfectly orchestrated façade stood no chance against it, shattering into a million pieces. She balanced her forehead in the palm of her hand, taking a deep breath.

"But I don't want to leave School of Rock behind," she moaned softly, trembling with the effort to fight those sobs rising in her throat, "It's just that my mother…wants me to be perfect…and I…well…rock isn't about being perfect…so I can't…"

"Summer, come on now. I didn't mean to make you cry," Mr. Philbur soothed, patting her shoulder comfortingly, "Come now, your mother will be back soon, and I don't want her to worry." Summer shook her head, brushing at her cheeks, and sniffing lightly.

"I'm sorry, I just haven't been having the greatest of weeks," Summer whispered, "I know it's not fair to you…and I don't mean to burden."

"It's no burden," Mr. Philbur assured her. She smiled half-heartedly.

"Thanks," she said, honestly. She saw her mother, from the corner of her eye returning to the table, and straightened. They were silent, as the woman quietly rejoined them.

"So," she began, folding her napkin in her lap, "What were you two talking about?"

"Music, actually," Mr. Philbur answered, giving Summer a look and another slight wink. She smiled.

"Oh? What kind? Was she telling you about the clarinet…?"

"No, no," Mr. Philbur chuckled, waving his hand and shaking his head, "Nothing like that," he straightened, folding his paper in half a second time, "We actually found a common interest in the classics."

"Oh? Beethoven? Mozart? Chopin?"

"Well, more like…Jimmy Paige, Steve Tyler, Anthony Kiedis, Janis Joplin…" Mr. Philbur cut in, and Summer felt the heat of her mother's enraged stare.

"Summer, I thought that you were giving up that…" the older woman started, trying to keep her voice pleasant, though it grew shrill as she spoke, "I thought we'd decided…"

"It would be a real shame, if she gave up a great mark on her application like managing a band," Mr. Philbur interrupted, straightening as the waitress brought their food and drinks. He waited until she had left, before continuing, "Her managing a rock band really sets her apart from other applicants, and the truth is, you want her to stand out."

"I'm not sure…"

"Oh, and it demonstrates her responsibility, organization, her drive to succeed," Mr. Philbur continued.

"Well, essentially, I suppose, she does keep the entire band running…"

"Which is something every ivy league school wants in a student. That type of leadership," Mr. Philbur persisted, stressing those key words and watching how they altered the older woman's face.

"Summer…was really interested in leaving them…but…Summer," she looked to her daughter, "Would you like to continue managing this band?" Summer felt the heat rush to her face and the makings of a genuine smile. Ah, the magic this alumnus, Mr. Philbur, must weild, to alter her mother's mind so quickly, so subtley.

"Yes, I would, mom," she answered, trying not to sound too eager. She flickered a bright grin Mr. Philbur's way and he smiled, tipping a nod. The rest of the lunch, Summer chatted entirely about music and School of Rock with Mr. Philbur. The conversation was heated, and her mother sat back trying to seem interested, but obviously a third wheel at that table. As they were leaving, Mr. Philbur walked the ladies to their car, arm strapped fatheringly about Summer as he lectured on the decline of good music in that modern age. They stopped at the Hathaway's Volkswagen, and Mr. Philbur relinquished his hold on the younger woman.

"Now, I can't say anything on the record," he whispered to her, "But if you really want it, and I'm not talking about your mother wanting it, then the scholarship is yours."

"Really?" Summer squeaked, then quietly, "Thank you, Mr. Philbur."

"I'll see you at the Battle of the Bands, right?"

"Of course," Summer grinned, then with a wink, "I'll even see if I can sneak you back stage to meet the band."

"Rock on, Summer," Mr. Philbur chuckled, closing her door for her. He watched them drive off, giving the peace sign, which Summer returned. She held her tongue, looking to her lap and trying not to appear as though she were gloating. But on the inside, she felt triumphant. And her mother was silently fuming. To Summer's relief, the woman said nothing accept a curt, "Congratulations".

0-0-

On Tuesday, Freddy returned to school.

The wondrous joy Summer had gained from the weekend lunch with Mr. Philbur and receiving the scholarship was quickly overshadowed by her return to school, and the dreariness of her current problems. By Tuesday, she was wiped of any and all happiness and energy.

It was the middle of third period, and Summer sat slumped in her desk. She had doodled on the entirety of her loose-leaf lined paper, which should have been promptly drawn up with her rigid cursive notes. She'd tied her hair back, as it had become unruly over the days of maltreatment. Her sweater was a little rumpled, a bit musty, and her skirt was not ironed. She had forgotten her stockings that day, which gained a few odd glances from the teachers, but she'd pulled up her socks to her knees in an effort to make up for it. A question was asked, and she felt heated stares from her peers. They waited expectantly for the usual pert and always correct answer to come from the small young woman. She remained silent, even so much as laying her head down, as she sketched a spiral on the sheet in front of her.

The teacher cleared her throat, repeated the question a few times, until another student tentatively raised his hand and gave a shot at answering. He wasn't far off, and the teacher smiled warmly his direction as she corrected his mistake. She continued with the lesson, only once glancing Summer's direction with a look of worry.

Summer hadn't said much to anyone over the past few days, mulling over her last conversation, well, it was more of a speech, from Freddy. He'd been drunk, she knew that much. But the words had sounded so strong, so forceful. It made her shudder, just thinking about it.

_I really, really, really want you._

She closed her eyes, burying her face in the crook of her arm and trying to calm her breathing. That had been the steadiest thing he'd said that night. The firmest, the most assured. It was as though everything were clearer in his drunken state, everything made more sense, and he knew exactly what he wanted. For a fleeting moment, she wished she could have the lack of inhibition to get drunk. Then perhaps everything in her heart would be clearer. Perhaps she would be able to call him up and spill her mind with the dead certainty of one who knew the exact path she was supposed to be on, who knew her soul and emotions inside out, who knew exactly what she wanted.

But Summer would never be drunk. Well, she had been, that one night. She blushed at the memory, recalling the passionate kisses. She'd never shared such kisses, such caresses, such intimacy with Kyle. And she couldn't imagine ever having done so. She couldn't imagine being so intimate with any other boy than Freddy.

_And you know the really…really….pathetic part? The one person in the world I ever wanted, is the one person in the world that could never want me._

Summer felt her chest convulse, tears filling her eyes. Why did he have to say that? Why did he have to say those kinds of things? A tear quivered to her upper lip, and she licked it off, reveling in the salt. It wasn't true, she wanted to say now, I do want him. If he were there, at school now, she could go to him, and say exactly that. Her heart clenched at the thought. She couldn't go through with that. She was too great a coward.

Drunks don't lie. They don't have the judgment to lie. So there had to be truth to what Freddy had said.

The tables had turned, Summer thought ironically. Now, he's avoiding me.

The first day he wasn't in school, Summer had felt it like a sting in the heart. And everyday after, the pain inside grew. It came to the point where the ache in her chest was so great, like a tumor, she wanted to take a knife, or even just the pencil sitting in front of her, plunge it into her flesh and cut the pain away. She hated this. She hated noticing that he wasn't there, when everyone else in the class seemed unfazed. The teacher didn't even bother glancing up or calling his name during roll. She hated waiting for a glimpse to see him. She hated being disappointed, because he never showed. And she hated knowing that he was ditching everyday because of her.

The door of the classroom creaked open, and the students fell silent, looking to it in surprise. The teacher paused in her lesson.

"Mister Jones, how nice of you to join us today," she said, and Summer froze, her eyes widening. Heart pounding, she slowly turned to peek at the blonde boy making his way into the room. He strode casually to the back and slumped into his seat, all eyes studying him. He didn't even so much as glance Summer's direction, and somehow that pain in her heart stung deeper. She looked back to her desk, trying to fight those tears and clear her suddenly foggy mind. He didn't look like himself, but he seemed to have put some effort into his appearance that morning.

"I woke up late," he explained, but he didn't sound like it were the truth. Relieved, Summer noted, he didn't sound drunk or hungover either. Cheekily, he remarked, "Better late than never."

"Yes," the teacher muttered, "But I do prefer that if you choose to show, you display a little desire to be here by coming in on time."

"Sorry," Freddy muttered, not sounding as though he were, and the teacher nodded approval, certain she'd made some impact in the young man's mind, before returning to the lesson, or attempting to as a few of the students' stared with piqued interests at the long absent drummer boy.

Summer frowned, straightening and brushing the loose tears from her cheeks, trying to focus on the teacher returning to the board and writing out various formulas. She didn't care, of course, when she heard whispers from the back. A young woman, Molly Sloan, head cheerleader, chatting with Freddy in animated whispers. And the hair on the back of her neck was not standing on end because of the light giggling the stout blonde emitted at something Freddy, evidently, said. And when she glanced back, it wasn't as though she were hoping to catch his eye. Though, she was sorely disappointed when she didn't.

He was leaning back in the chair, a smirk on his lips, legs stretched out beneath the small high school desk. Molly was not subtle in her flirtations, smiling toothily, pouting her lips whenever possible, letting her hair fall casually into her face so that Freddy had to reach over and brush it away. She was leaned forward, too, so that her blouse dipped out and gave ample view of her well-endowed bosom. Summer pursed her lips.

I'm not jealous, she told herself, I don't care.

He spends the past several days ditching school and avoiding me, after calling drunk and saying those things on the phone, only to come back and flirt unabashedly with one of the most renowned sluts in the school. God, could she wear her skirt any higher? And those highlights are so fake!

But I am not jealous.

Summer turned forward again, tapping the desktop in front of her. She heard another muffled giggle from the back of the room, and narrowed her eyes at the blackboard. She dared a peek back, and saw that Molly had taken Freddy's hand and was writing something on it. He seemed disinterested, glancing about the room. Briefly his eyes met Summer's, and immediately he averted his gaze. She spun back to the front of the room, heart pounding.

What was he trying to prove? That he could forget a drunken moment in which he spilled out his heart and a lot of other mushy emotions. Where he desperately proclaimed his feelings for Summer, and his self-loathe. That he could pretend it never happened and still be the bad boy of Horace Green that he'd always been. The self-centered jerk, the womanizing, obnoxious, uncouth…another giggle from the back of the room, and Summer felt an itching. Before she could stop the impulse, her muscles reacted. The teacher was startled by the movement, and stunned to see what was before her. Summer had raised her hand.

"Miss Hathaway, I haven't asked a question," the woman sputtered in surprise, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a slim index finger.

"Uh…I…I know," Summer stammered, folding her hands on her deck and rigidly arching her back straight. She couldn't fight the words that spilled from her mouth, even as she desperately wanted to, "I merely felt I should point out to you your failure to follow the standard punishment of tardiness, as stated in the Horace Green handbook, that any student with an outstanding tardy exceeding the allotted fifteen minutes of time after class has begun, signified by the late bell, must be sent to the principle's office for proper discourse," she took a deep breath, feeling the scalding hot burn of her peers' eyes boring into her, branding her a teacher's pet. She felt guilt weigh in her stomach, and her body felt like jell-o, but she continued, her voice growing slightly shriller as she spoke, "Freddy was almost thirty minutes late, ma'am, and rules are rules."

"Ah…I…" the teacher looked at a loss for words, glancing uncertainly down at her desk, then back up at Summer.

"Ma'am, what good are rules if you fail to follow them? It seems to me you are in an impressionable position, and are setting a poor example for your students," Summer pressed, feeling a swell of satisfaction in her chest as she watched the woman before her cave within.

"You're right, Summer. Freddy, I'm sorry, but I have to send you to Miss Mullins. Take a pass."

There was a hush as Freddy slowly, stiffly lifted himself up and waltzed down the line of desks. Summer's hair stood on end as he breezed by, and she felt her face flush as his scent and warmth filled her senses. She lowered her eyes as he took the pass with a scowl, and slammed the door open, leaving in a calm rage. Still, not even bothering to look Summer's way. Then, slowly, soft murmurs broke out amongst the students. Summer distinctly caught, "teacher's pet", "goody-two-shoes bitch", and "self-righteous priss", the others were too awful, she simply zoned them out.

Inside, her mind was a jumbled mess. Why did I do that, she asked herself, taking steadying breaths and closing her eyes. She wasn't certain. You were jealous, a voice inside her whispered, and you're a bitch.

"Settle down, children," the teacher called over the students, before continuing with her lesson as though she'd never left off. But the whisperings didn't die down, they simply fell quieter. Summer could hear them all around her, a soft buzz, like voices in the back of her mind, but she didn't care.

He hadn't even looked at her. Even as she'd gotten him sent to the principle's office. She was certain, she was absolutely positive, that her stunt would at least gain some enraged glare. But nothing. He was too enthralled by that whore, Molly, to even care. Summer's eyes widened, and she choked down a gasp. A harrowing realization sunk in. She had been jealous. But shouldn't she have been? He says he wants her, and then he's flirting with another girl?

But then, it's not like he's your boyfriend. Summer closed her eyes tightly, feeling sick. That's right, it's not like she has any claim to him. So in a drunken state he calls her up middle of the night and declares that he wants her. That gave her no standing in his life. What did it mean, really? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Summer's hand was in the air again, and a few students groaned. The teacher turned, sighing heavily.

"I haven't asked a question, and no more students were late…is someone chewing gum, Summer?" she seethed, and the class broke into muffled snickers. She wasn't the type of teacher who liked to be told how to run her class.

"I have to go to the restroom," Summer stammered, ignoring the comment. Before awaiting an answer, she lifted herself up and bolted from the room. By the time she reached the women's room, she'd already burst into tears. She slid to the floor, shaking with unruly sobs and trying to calm herself.

Why was he pushing her away, now? Why was he shutting her out? Was it all a joke? Had he not meant anything he'd said? At the bookstore, at his house? And what about that phone call? Was it all a lie too? Something more to further hurt her? Maybe he was never using her. Maybe he was leading her on, the entire time. Maybe they all were.

The world crashed around her at that thought. They all were leading her on. Lying to her, trying to hurt her. It had all been a joke. The thought itself was too painful to bear, and she curled up on the tile floor and simply cried. If only she could hate them all. It only hurt more, knowing it was probably all her fault.

0-0-

Katie slipped into the lunch line behind Zack, who gave her a cheerful smile. It quickly faded when he saw the dark look across her pretty features.

"I haven't seen Summer all day," she told him. He shrugged, looking to his chocolate pudding, "She wasn't in any of the classes we share. But I know she was at school, I picked her up this morning. I walked her to her homeroom."

"I don't know what to tell you, Katie," he mumbled, "I haven't seen her either." They moved forward, as the people behind were getting anxious, "You gonna get anything?"

"No money," Katie replied shortly, staring out in agitation at the cafeteria, scanning for signs of her best friend.

"Oh," Zack said, then briskly, "I got money." Katie blushed, shocked by the offer, she turned to look at him. He was peering at the food on the counter and waiting for the lunch lady to pile some tater tots on his plate.

"That's alright," Katie assured him, "I'm not really hungry." He looked over to her as though that statement were incomprehensible.

"Come on, Posh," Zack pressed, "It's pudding day," he grinned, lifting a cup of the whipped creamy concoction as proof, "You have to at least get pudding!" Katie rolled her eyes.

"Okay. I'll get a cup of pudding," she sighed, shaking her head and chuckling slightly as he eagerly grabbed another cup for her. They reached the register and he paid.

"I'm really worried about Summer, though," Katie went on, as they turned to walk towards the table. Zack slunk an arm over her shoulders.

"Don't think too much about it. She hasn't looked herself lately, the teachers might've sent her to Miss Mullins to talk about her feelings or the nurses office to get her temperature taken," he assured her, then, "Look, Freddy's back."

"Oh," she glanced over to the band's usual table, where the blonde sat lazily picking at his tray, "Why so he is."

"It's because it's pudding day," Zack told her wisely, and they both nodded their heads firmly to one another in agreement. Katie smiled, shaking her head. She spun walking backwards to face Zack.

"Aw…the whole gang's back together…at school," she frowned, "Sort of. Well we would be, if anyone knew where the hell Summer was," then shaking her head in determination to follow Zack's advice and just not worry about it, "You write any rocking songs yet?"

"Did you?" Zack retorted. She shook her head. He grabbed a hold of her arm, steering her from almost crashing into a crowd of people, and she laughed.

"Thanks," she murmured.

"Turn around, Katie, what are you doing?" he demanded, a bit peevishly. She stopped, her face falling, and he paused, glancing over his shoulder as Katie spun around and began walking again towards the band table with a hasty shuffle. He spotted easily Miranda, Katie's older sister standing amongst a crowd of friends. He felt his face flush as he realized, the older girls were looking at him, whispering amongst themselves, and breaking into fits of giggles.

"She's such a bitch," Katie cursed, as Zack jogged to catch up, "Probably telling them how I'm your little charity case, and you wouldn't even care about me if I didn't play the bass guitar in the band, and…"

"Shut up, Katie," Zack commanded her gently, putting his arm around her waist, "Because you know that you aren't my charity case, or any of the other band member's, for that matter. Let them say what they want. You're a rocker, what do you care?" She smiled halfheartedly.

"Yeah," she mumbled, "What do I care what they think?" She turned back to Miranda, quickly raising her hand up, middle finger only, and Zack's mouth dropped. "Fuck you," she mouthed to her sister and friends, and Zack grabbed her arm, eyes wide in surprise of the sudden vulgar action, tugging it down and trying to continue maneuvering her to their usual table while attempting to turn her forward and scanning the room for faculty and school staff members.

"Katie!" he cried, nearly dropping the tray. They both shot forward to balance it, and Katie broke into giggles at how Zack stood awkwardly and flushed.

"If I weren't worried sick about Summer," she informed him, "This would be a very good day."

"You're weird," Zack informed her quietly while straightening in indignation. He took the moment to brush Katie's now mussed hair from her face and neatly tuck it behind her ear, before continuing to the table. He missed the blush that colored Katie's cheeks as she followed behind slowly, "And what are you talking about," Zack called over his shoulder, "This is a good day. It's pudding day," he lifted the little cup as a visual aid, and squeezed in at the end of the table. Katie shook her head, pausing to wrap her arms around Freddy's neck.

"Look who decided to grace Horace Green with his punk ass presence," she muttered into his ear, and he smirked, curling his arm over hers in a weak return of the embrace, "The ladies were so bored. Without you around, who were they going to drool over?"

"The hallways were surprisingly cleaner, though," Zack commented.

"And there were less reports of dehydration," Katie added.

"Which meant the lines at the drinking fountains were much shorter," Zack put in. Freddy shook his head at them, smirking despite himself.

"Shut up," he muttered. Katie took her seat next to Zack, nodding to Frankie and Alicia, who were covering laughs.

"Where you been, anyways, Spaz?" Alicia asked.

"Yeah, what's with ditching school?" Frankie piped. Freddy shook his head, leaning back in his seat.

"Nothing," he replied casually, picking at his lunch. The other band members exchanged looks, and silently agreed not to press the matter further. "Where is everyone?" he asked, making a point of looking around the cafeteria, though he probably wasn't really interested in knowing.

"Marta stayed after class to talk to the teacher about something," Zack answered.

"Michelle and Eleni are primping in the restroom," Frankie muttered glumly.

"And Tomika and Lawrence," Alicia smiled slyly, leaning forward on the table to peer mischievously out at the others, "Are probably spending private time together."

It took Katie only two seconds to figure out what that meant, and she rang out her understanding in a squeal, grasping Alicia's hands and both girls broke into exuberant chatter. Freddy, Frankie, and Zack sat staring confused at the extremely excited girls.

"What's going on? What does she mean by 'private time together'?" Freddy demanded of the other two boys who simply shrugged. Katie rolled her eyes and turned to glare exasperated at the clueless three.

"It means," she hissed, annunciating each word, "Tomika and Lawrence finally made a move to get together."

"In what way?" Frankie asked, raising an eyebrow, "Don't they always get together? They're friends and…"

"Rumor has it," Alicia cut him off, regaining Katie's attention, "That a crowded hallway of people bore witness to the two crazy lovebirds walking together to Tomika's first class. Which, you will admit, is nothing big, right? It's huge, however, that Lawrence was carrying Tomika's books and…" she paused for dramatic effect, "They were holding hands!"

"Oh my god," Katie squeaked, "Adorable!"

"Oh my god," Zack gasped, teasingly, "Sickening!"

"Oh how sweet," Freddy mocked, "Isn't that just the cutest you guys have ever heard?"

"Yes, definitely," Frankie joined in, "So sweet and wonderful."

"I must agree," Zack took over, "Let's talk incessantly about it, and then break into high-pitched screams."

The other two boys nodded, saying in unison, "Let's."

"You three think you're so damned cute, don't you?" Alicia sneered, and Katie glowered at them, fighting the urge to smack both Zack and Freddy upside the head, as they were closest to her. She settled for joining in on their laughter instead, snickering slightly under her breath, and Alicia soon followed suit. They all fell bashfully silent, when Tomika and Lawrence, carrying the aforementioned girl's books along with his own, joined them at the table. Their faces were outstanding shades of pink.

"Hey guys," Tomika greeted, "What're you up to?"

"Uh…it's pudding day," Zack said sheepishly, raising the cup of custard and gaining unwarranted "what the…?" looks.

They all burst into laughter, except for the very confused Tomika and Lawrence. Michelle and Eleni soon made their ways over, giving Freddy overzealous "welcome back's", and then Marta came. She seemed a little more shy in saying her "hi" to Freddy. And then the girls moved aside to let her squeeze in next to the blonde drummer, missing an eye roll from Katie, who occupied herself with jabbing her spoon in her cup of pudding. The boys didn't seem to notice the great amount of maneuvering the girls did to get Marta in there, and Freddy didn't seem to see the overtly happy expression on Marta's face, the dazed smile, and bright red blush across her cheeks and forehead. He was glancing about the cafeteria still as the others went into eating and discussing the upcoming Battle of the Bands.

"With the competition a week away, and nothing exceptionally rockin' in the book," Zack sighed, "I'm really thinking this comp is going to suck."

"Don't say that," Michelle clucked, "We've got a lot on the line."

"No shit," Zack muttered, "And somehow it's all on me. On whether I get a good song written in time for us to rehearse and…shit…it's just there's too much at stake if we lose. It's not like the other Battle of the Bands when it was just about rocking."

"If you ask me," Marta muttered, "Summer's really not the biggest reason to win the competition…I wouldn't say she's a very high stake."

"Marta…" Katie began, flaring up with slight rage.

"Where is Summer anyways?" Freddy cut her off, his voice a distant murmur. From his face, he looked as though he hadn't meant to speak that question aloud, but it was evident he'd been thinking it for awhile. Marta seemed a bit crestfallen, though nobody noticed.

"She's been MIA since…well, hell, I don't know," Katie answered, "I dropped her off at class this morning."

"And she got me sent to the principle's office during third period," Freddy muttered.

"She what?" Marta demanded, "For what?"

"Tardiness," Freddy shrugged, obviously apathetic to that situation.

"What a…what a bitch," Marta seethed. She looked to Freddy, expecting some form of agreement, but he said nothing, simply stretching and pushing his not-even-half-finished lunch away.

"Did anyone see her after that?" Katie questioned, looking around the table.

"I have her fourth period," Alicia informed them, "No Summer."

"She's in my fifth period class," Tomika spoke up, "Maybe she'll be there."

"You know," Katie sighed, "I'm getting really worried. Summer's pulling a disappearing act, and after the way she's been acting the past few days…"

"How's that?" Freddy inquired casually, feeling a lump settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Really weird," Katie disclosed, "She's completely went remiss in taking care of herself. She's distant, she's moody."

"She doesn't raise her hand in class," Frankie added and Freddy quirked an eyebrow at that. He shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his unfinished meal in disgust. So that's the damage he caused.

"She doesn't talk to any of us, either," Eleni put in, "All we get are grunts and moans." Freddy nodded, before standing and beginning to walk away towards the cafeteria entrance.

"I'm going to the restroom," he called over his shoulder. The others were startled by the sudden declaration. And Marta slumped, sighing.

"He's just as moody as Summer," she announced, gaining murmurs of agreement.

"What's happened to us?" Eleni sighed, "Summer wants to leave us behind, Freddy's got detention until he graduates, Zack couldn't write a decent song to save his life, no offense Zack, and let's face it, rehearsals have not been great. Everything is so screwed up. I know it sounds harsh and I hate to say it, but pretty soon we're all going to be School of Rock dropouts…the way this keeps up."

Everyone was silent, and in that silence, an eerie agreement to what she'd said.

And then, suddenly, Zack sat up, nearly knocking his cup of pudding over. Everyone looked to him quizzically, but he was alight with wilderment. He flipped out his songbook, a black spiral pad of lined paper, the cover doodled all over and blanketed in band stickers, and flipped it to the first empty page. Without a word to any of the other band members, he began scribbling erratically. For a while, everyone simply watched him, though they knew better than to attempt reading over his shoulder. Then they slipped back into a slight conversation. Every now and then, Zack would pause, look thoughtful, maybe scribble something out, and then continue with maniacal snickers under his breath. To any passer-by, he would appear a madman, but to his band mates who knew better, he was simply a creative genius struck with inspiration.

* * *

END A/N: I really have nothing to say, right now. Oh, I keep forgetting to tell you guys the big difference between School of Rock and the Barber Boys. All the guesses everyone made were right, of course, but I was looking for one huge one in particular. Passion. School of Rock has passion and they put all their emotions into their songs and performances. Barber Boys lack the passion for their music, and it shows in the chapter where they're auditioning. Kyle has all these angsty thoughts running through his head, but he's smiling and singing and dancing. There's no real emotion in their songs. 

With that said, please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. PLEASE _**REVIEW**_!

My dad bought me a Led Zeppelin shirt when he went to the mall with my mom and little sister. I'm so psyched. I love it! He saw it and knew I'd like it, somehow! Maybe the fact I talk incessantly about classic rock, buy classic rock CDs, and wear classic rock band shirts, has something to do with it...hm...

Anyways...thanks for reading!


	17. Teachers Have All the Answers

A/N: I'M SO SORRY! I know it's really late. If you want excuses, they're at the bottom. If you just want to read, well...

Thanks for the reviews:

Unlikely-to-Bear-It: Yes. It was pudding day. Isn't pudding great? I love pudding. No, you cannot have my Led Zeppelin shirt. I almost bought a Who shirt, but then I saw an Aerosmith shirt, and I was like "Oooooh". All the Who shirts were really big anyways….

Saynt Jimmy: It's good that you wanna see where this fic is going. I'm sorry the update was so late, and yeah, Mr. Philbur was really cool.

sweetcaroline: I do understand what you're saying…and that's funny. It made me laugh for a good five minutes. I've done the same thing, so don't worry…I wouldn't say I'm the _queen_ of cliffhangers…maybe the court jester of cliffhangers…and nope, you had to wait (checks calendar) five days! Yeah…sorry about that…I liked Mr. Philbur's character, but I think that's the last we'll see of him in this story. Aw…so sad. And yeah, Austin and Summer do care about each other, it's just that they were raised in a household constantly pitted against one another competitively. Hey, that's how I get jealous too! I noticed that back when I had a crush on whatshisname. I've seen over-jealous stories, stories where everything has to be to the _extreme_, and I'll admit, there are places in my story that are a bit over the top (emotion-wise). But you know, at least they have emotion in their stories. I've seen stories where it's like. First chapter, Summer and Freddy hate each other. Second chapter, Summer and Freddy are madly in love. Or any character for that matter, and you're sitting there staring at the screen kind of like, "what happened? What I miss?" Yup, this was a long review! My favoritest kind! Study hard!

Vaguely specific: Yay! I'm a celebrity…anyways…I'm just evil all the time, except for the rare time when I'm apathetic. I am brutally honest. At work, when they're introducing me, they always say, "She's going to be really honest with you. If you're doing something wrong, she will tell you." And then I add, "Yeah, I'm a bitch, don't take it personal". And then we all laugh. I've had people take what I say really personal, and I was always like, "Psh, get a life". Some "obese 40 year old balding guy", for some odd reason that just cracked me up and I laughed a long time. It's funny because it's true. You didn't like the original "Come Together"? My dad likes the original better, but I kind of like Aerosmith's version better. I guess it depends on the sound you want to listen to. Beatles is a bit more mellow than Aerosmith's, with their wailing electric guitar riffs. Actually, I think the Beatles' original version is done on acoustic guitar…I'll have to pull my album out and check that, though. Eddie Vedder? Don't think I know him…I love the Who also, my favorite song is "Baba O'Reiley", god, I hope I spelled that right…I liked the Limp Bizkit cover of Behind Blue Eyes, at least they didn't completely shred it like they did George Michael's "Faith", which I will admit, I like the song as well. No, you don't offend me. I'm not Fred Durst, and I didn't do a cover of the song. The thing about the American Idiot CD is that you can't just listen to one song, you don't get the effect of the whole CD. Yes, the radios totally overplayed that song (which is why I don't listen to the radio) but if you haven't heard the songs before it, and you don't hear the songs after, you don't get an idea for how great the CD actually is. And yeah, their older stuff is all good. I would recommend buying International Superhits, because it's kind of like a greatest hits CD. That way you could like get a taste of all their work, without having to buy all their albums. I wouldn't mind my date taking me to a concert, in fact, I would love him forever…whoever he may be. Don't hate Marta, for she knows not what she does. And who knows where Freddy's going, and you have to understand, Summer doesn't have a lot of confidence in herself. But yeah…it is annoying…wow, that's some way to think of a friend…heheh…I hope you like this chapter almost as much…this chapter didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, though…but…just read on, oh…uh…vague one! And we did chat again!

Parcie05: This one was supposed to be longer…didn't work out that way. Yeah, it's kind of frustrating. The boys are clueless in the matter though, and Katie's not helping, so…yeah…and Freddy's too busy thinking about Summer to even care what the others are doing. Nothing is forever. All good things must come to an end. And all that other cliché crap that's supposed to make you feel better, but really doesn't. I hate ending stories, because stories always feel so incomplete…the characters still have all this life to live and…oi…sorry. Oh…AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I forgot about that smiley face…hehe….I wasn't sure if you were gone or not, so I sent it…and I kind of wanted to see if the thing would work, too…so….and then I left and….hehehe….sorry. Talk to you later.

Dgmbf4ev: Thank you. And of course most of the band is getting paired together. If I didn't pair them together I'd have to come up with all new characters and that's just tedious. The few little characters in-between…their good enough for me. I'll try!

Vampirehelsing: Thank you. It's a little late…but here's the chapter…

Alex: An almost sweet chapter. Okay. What the hell are you talking about? I'm confused…but I'll just go with…okay! Yes! You're completely right! I hate the cold. We're getting back up to our 110 degree weather out here, and I'm so happy! I miss the heat when it's winter. Come mid-Summer, I'll be bitching and moaning about how I miss the cold…Year group? Is that for school? I don't mind. Sounds boring. My days have been fairly boring as well. At home I write…well…this lovely fanfic, and then I go to work, and then I go to class (or not…because I've been ditching a great deal lately….don't tell my parents….) People always seem to enjoy reading my A/N…I don't know why…I just babble mostly. It might interest you to know, I'm working on my website, and soon it will be up! And most of that's going to be me babbling, and then some of my artwork (original comics) and original writing. As soon as I read your review, I went and looked up Eskimo Joe and Grinspoon. They're aussie bands, I see. They sound decent. Have you ever heard of Interpol? I'm like obsessed with their one song, "Evil". I have homework to do too….

IndesElfwine: Lots of humor in that chapter. Yup. But what's with the proclamation of love? That was a little weird. J/K. I love you too.

Rachel: It's cool we're on the same music wavelength. And…no…I don't think I'm a long lost sibling…though my sister used to say they found me in a basket on the front porch…hm…I'm just so shocked that she's still making "music". Not that I'd call that crap she puts out music. Nope. Never heard of Veronica Mars. No…wait…it's on UPN? Is that the show where the girl's all a detective or something…and her dad's all like a discharged detective or mall security guy and…I have no idea what I'm talking about. I hate all reality shows, and I'm so pissed about this new Brittany show. I mean, if you look up the definition of sell-out, you will see her picture! She's just trying to cash in on this reality show nightmare…reality shows are just about whiny people bitching about how they're on this show with these people they don't like, and…oh boo hoo, I'm a pretty person on television trying to make money off my looks and whining. GOD! How annoying. I used to watch Mad Mad House on Sci-fi, because I thought it was pretty cool. I would have liked to have been in that house. And the chick I wanted to win, _did_! But the whole thing about that show was to take these, generally, close-minded people and get them to be more open-minded. And she was this whiny little prissy thing, and she did make the biggest transformation, and why are we talking about reality shows? I hate 'em. Let's leave it at that! I love my limited edition American Idiot cd! I don't' know if they're still selling it. You'd have to check on amazon…and your mother does sound weird. My cousin's mother wouldn't buy her any CDs that said, "Parental Guidance" on it, or whatever, that warning thing. And that included the Greenday CDS (this was around Christmas), so she went and bought her daughter all the non-Parental Guidance CDS. And I went out and bought her all the Parental Guidance CDS. I bought her like five CDS and I think only one of them wasn't Parental Guidance thinged. What does it matter that they wear eye make-up? All celebrities wear make-up. Your mom does know that, right? Maybe it's not as visible as Billie Joe's, but still. And he does have a great voice. I love his voice. Ashlee Simpson should die. My dad hates her. He yells at the screen whenever she comes on, saying, "SHE SUCKS!" I love my dad. He hates Jessica Simpson too, and I kind of do to. Good Charlotte and Simple Plan are what I call pop rock. They sound like rock, but they're not, because they ain't about what rock is about. Yeah, but Christina Aguilera is a _way_ better singer than Jessica. Alicia Keys has a great voice. Have you ever heard of Norah Jones? She sounds a lot like Carol King (whom I love). Yeah…no direct Freddy/Summer. I didn't actually have any plans to write an actual song for this story (I've written a song for another fanfic of mine…one that's not even up yet…) If you guys want me to write a song for this story, I can try…Sometimes adults only listen to adults. And thanks for the praise.

dozengirl: another awesome review!

Nanners-77: Yay! You don't think I'm on drugs…now that's one person…we just have to work on the other several billion…I thought I heard somewhere that Jack Black was Canadian, but maybe that's just the voice in my head leading me astray. Yeah, Summer's being a bit annoying. That seems the general consensus. But I think everyone just wants her to shut up and kiss Freddy, and you know…get over it. Freddy's having a rough time. As we've seen, his dad's not much help. And yes, Mr. Philbur is awesome. He's semi-based on my guitar teacher. Who's pretty cool. He's seen Jimi Hendrix play live (the Star Spangled Banner), so that's how cool he is…an how old…for being disrespectful? Huh. My principle has never yelled at me. But I kind of slipped through school like a ghost. Nobody really noticed me and nobody probably remembers me. Ah…but that's my sad story, and I won't bore you with it when there's this chapter you probably have been waiting to read…

FreddyMyLove: Thanks. I really don't know what anyone who was in the movie would say about my fanfic. Generally, I don't care. A lot of people mistake that somehow the characters are the actors, when that's not true. I've seen fanfics where people accidentally replace a character name with the actors name who plays them, and I'm like…"What?" You just need to remember, this is about the characters in the movie, not the actors that play the characters. I'm sure the actors know that there are fanfics out about the movie…some of them probably at least know. I'm pretty certain they probably don't read them, and they probably don't care. But that's just my opinion.

Radiancex: Thank you. I quite liked writing the Mr.Philbur/Summer interaction, even if it was hard and I sat staring at my screen a long time thinking…"What am I gonna do?" When the reviewers like the story, it makes it all worth it.

Iamnotachimpunk: YAY ZACK! No problem. I had to read your story when I saw that you wrote it and that it was a Summer/Freddy story. And thanks for not thinking I'm an alcoholic…my mom thinks I am…BUT MY DAD LET ME DRINK THE RUM! I'm a lucky duck! I should get a shirt that says that. Chocolate makes you out of it? Hm. Red Bull does the trick for me. Mr. Philbur is great…he's kind of…a little…based on my guitar teacher. Pink Floyd is the best. I love Pink Floyd! Yup, Austin was in there. That was actually for you. I had no intention of him reappearing in the story, but you seemed to really want him in there at least once more, and he kind of fit. Summer's doing a little weirdly…I hope she stops thinking like that soon and straightens everything out. Or else what?

Phish Food: YES! Another review from you! It makes me so happy when you review! Everyone's reviews make me so happy, but as you were the muse behind this story…well…yeah. Yup. But I really can't go a day without checking the site. I feel so addicted…especially to your story. Which as soon as this chapter is up, I have to go check and see if it's up! And read and review it! I'm so excited…and it you're excited about the chapter…yay! I'm brimming with happiness. I was so happy when I saw that mentioned in your review! I'm so glad you like my characterizations of everyone. And yeah, while the story does kind of center on Summer and Freddy, the other ships have to be in there, and they have to be given their time, right? I love writing Zack and Katie moments. Because their characters are so shy and cute, and they just get along so well. I'll be looking for your next review! And your update!

I'm missing a few...like...from wyverna...

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 17: Teachers Have All the Answers

For most of lunch, and when the bell rang, fifth period, Freddy wandered the halls. He was especially adept at dodging hall monitors and teachers, as he usually wandered when he was bored or simply not in the mood to go to class. He'd known that Summer was going through things, and that she hadn't been acting herself. He would hear Katie, during band practice, voicing her concern for the young woman quite often. But he'd forced himself not to think about it. His own feelings for the young woman were already taking a toll on his drumming and mood, he didn't need to know her condition, as he was fairly certain, he'd lose it all together.

Not that she meant _that_ much to him. Right?

She'd looked like hell when he'd walked in to third period, slumped at her desk doodling mindlessly on her paper. She didn't wear that usual sprite expression that got on his nerves. She wasn't perked, and sitting up straight, and intently paying attention to the teacher droll on about the lesson. And he couldn't look at her. Knowing that he was the reason behind that lump parading around as Summer. Because she wasn't herself, she wasn't the girl he cared so much about, she was this shell…this pale copy of the Summer he knew. He'd emptied that shell with his stupid drunken mouth. Even when her father died, she'd kept going unfazed, smiling and attentive, so peppy and full of spirit.

Then in one phone call, he'd completely crushed her. He had known it would only be a matter of time before he fucked her up. But he still let himself believe…he still let himself think for a moment, he could do this right. That he wouldn't fuck up like he always did.

What an idiot he'd been.

And now this one girl. This girl he cared so much for, was suffering because of it.

That blonde girl that morning had been talking to him. She'd been a welcome distraction. She was something to look at. If he wasn't looking at her, talking to her, pretending to like her, then he would be looking at Summer and wanting to do things that he really couldn't do in class. Drinking, would be one of them. Making out with her would be another one. Yelling at her to straighten up, be herself, stop sulking because he wasn't that important. Just hold her.

Okay. So maybe she did mean _that_ much to him.

He paused in his wanderings, finding himself looking out at the atrium. Beneath the large tree, on the bench shaded by its foliage, lay a young woman, raven hair falling about her face. His heart caught for a few beats, and he felt stuffy, it was hard to breath. This was an unexpected surprise. She was staring up into the sky, her fingers twisted in the cloth of her blouse. She looked serene, beautiful. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand curled onto the door handle, his other palm pressing against the door's glass.

He'd spent a long time thinking about the things Dewey had said. And now, seeing her out there, realizing how beautiful she looked, he knew he had to at least see, because she was everything he'd said she was, and he did feel everything he said he did, he had to find out if he still had that chance or if he'd really lost her completely.

He pushed the door open and walked out into the courtyard. She turned her head, her eyes looking to him with a glazed indifferent glance. And then her cheeks colored, and she pulled herself up, turning her tensed back to him. He felt sick, and faltered from that action momentarily. Being stubborn, however, he continued forward, coming to stand at the edge of the bench. They were both silent. He couldn't think of anything to say. He cleared his throat, and voiced the first obnoxious thought that popped into his head, just to kill the silence.

"You're quite the hypocrite," he sneered, "Get me sent to the principle's office for being late, and then turn around and ditch class." Her head snapped around and he was shocked to find tears shining in her eyes and glistening down her cheeks.

"And you're a lying…womanizing…chauvinistic…piece of scum," she stammered. He lowered his eyes, not even bothering to protest. Because she was right, he supposed, technically, he was all of those things. "For a moment…for a stupid moment…" Summer continued, trembling with overwhelming rage and emotion, "I thought maybe…just maybe I was different then all those other girls…that quite possibly…oh, but who was I kidding? I'm not that special, now am I? I'm just like every other girl in your life. I was fooled. I gave in to the charm of Freddy Jones…I can't believe I was so stupid," she shook her head, pulling herself up and turning away from him, "How could I not see? You make every girl feel like she's special, like she's the only one in your life, the only one you want…" that seemed to trigger the gears in Freddy's mind, as fuzzy memories of his late night phone call began to clear, "How could I be so stupid as to think I was different? Ha, I suppose I was different. After all, I wasn't pursued for pleasure or for fun, but just as some feeble attempt at…what? What was this about anyways? Getting me to stay with the band? Because if you think for one minute that…"

"Are you gonna let me talk?" Freddy demanded, "Shit, Summer, do you want some sort of explanation, answers, some shit like that? Or what? I guess you have it all figured out, huh?"

"No, I don't," she whispered, peering once more at him, and the tears were falling more steadily now, "Why would you intentionally hurt me? And why…god…why are you doing it by hurting yourself?"

"What?" Freddy's brow drew together, he stepped forward, uncertain, and fighting that urge he had to grab Summer and do…well…something, though he wasn't sure what. "Why would you care if…?"

"You're right, why would I care? I'm a frigid bitch," she moaned, turning away, covering her mouth with a quaking hand and trying to suppress the sobs fighting to escape her throat.. He shook his head, telling himself 'stay focused'.

"Summer, I know that I…" he began, then shook his head again, turning and pacing, before turning back to her once more, "I'm sorry, alright. I know I said…well…things…a lot of which I really can't remember right now. But I…remember some of it," he licked his lips, turning again and folding his hands over the back of his neck as he spoke, "I…" he took a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut tightly, "I didn't lie, Summer. Look," he turned again, meeting her eyes and trying to convey simply through their dark orbs that what he was saying was sincere, "I've never…I've never wanted to be with any girl…as badly as I want to be with you. Fuck, I've never wanted to be with any girl before you. My whole life, the only girls I've ever been with were only around me for my looks or my money, and I hated them, but hell, it was better than being alone. Shit, Summer," he looked down, running his hand through his hair, then letting it fall uselessly to his side. It was the hand the blonde from third period had written her number on. He'd washed those black ink scribbles off, after he left the room, "It's really all I am. Money, looks, and lies. The rest of me is…just…broken pieces…I don't know…" he shook his head, before walking briskly past her and pushing the door open, suddenly frustrated, thinking he was making no progress, that everything he was saying was useless and he was wasting his time, "You don't want me. I guess I'm the stupid one…" He began out the door, shuffling down the hallway. He felt sick. It hadn't come out the way he'd wanted, but then, he wasn't sure how he'd wanted it to come out.

"Freddy," Summer called softly in a quivering tone, "You're wrong." He paused, turning to peer at her from the corner of his vision. She'd caught the door, and stood holding it open. Her hand was shaking, as it lay against the cool glass, and her eyes were studying him, looking into him, and he shuddered from their exacting stare. And suddenly, her voice was firm, direct, she spoke with complete certainty, "I do want you." She stepped forward, releasing the door and letting it fall shut behind her. Her eyes never left his, "I want you more than I seem know…" she took a deep breath, lowering her eyes, "I just…I don't understand…" she was surprised to feel Freddy's hand slide behind her neck, drawing her forward towards him. She hadn't even realized he'd closed the gap between them.

"I want you, you want me," he whispered, "If you open your mouth and try to analyze why that is, I swear to god, Summer…" Her lips parted to respond, but his mouth had already covered them. She stumbled against him, shocked at first, eyes wide, before they slipped shut and her fingers curled into his shirt. His hand curved around the small of her back, the other caressing her neck and jaw line. Though it were at least a few minutes later, the kiss seemed too short when Summer broke away, turning and shaking her head, tears splattering to the ground and her cheeks.

"And what are we going to do?" Summer demanded, "Do you think this changes my mind about School of Rock and the Barber Boys? Because it wasn't about you…"

"Damn it, Summer," Freddy muttered, growling softly, "Why did you have to bring that up?" He winced, running his hand through his hair, "Maybe it is about that. Maybe that is why I'm here talking to you right now. Maybe I don't want you to leave School of Rock…maybe I desperately don't want you to leave School of Rock…but is that such a bad thing? Is it such a bad thing that I want you with us…managing our band?" His voice was borderline shout now, and it was taking all his willpower not to break into a genuine scream, or else every hall monitor within the vicinity would descend upon them with promises of suspension and month long detentions.

"I…I don't know," Summer stammered, her own voice a bit shrill, " But if that's the only reason you're here…then I'd rather you not want me with the band at all…I'd rather you want me to manage the Barber Boys, then stand here and tell me you want to be with me and that you think I'm special and different then any other girl you ever kissed and…when it could all be a lie…when it's all just a lie…and…"

"Goddamn it, Summer," Freddy cut her off, "Didn't I just say it wasn't a lie? Are you not listening? For once in my life, I…Freddy Jones…am telling a girl exactly how he feels…well…not exactly but…still…I am being as honest to you as I've ever been in my entire life. I am not lying to you."

"You shouldn't be here, Freddy," Summer persisted, lowering her eyes and letting her hair fall into her face, "With the Battle of the Bands a week away…you really shouldn't be here…we shouldn't be talking…about any of this…you should leave." Freddy groaned inwardly, shaking his head and grimacing. He turned, hands balled into fists from undirected frustration. He didn't know quite how to feel. It wasn't really a rejection, but it wasn't an acceptance either. His face was flushed and his eyes glazed with what threatened to be tears. He paused, partway down the hall. It wasn't worth it to walk away. He'd just put himself on the line, risking everything to let down his defenses and tell Summer how he felt. He was not walking away empty-handed.

"Fuck it," he muttered, before grabbing Summer's arm, spinning her to face him, and pressing a kiss to her lips.

She flitted momentarily, from surprise, giving a muffled cry against his mouth, even so much as struggling half-heartedly against him, before giving in. Her hands gently came to rest on either sides of his waist, and he cupped her cheeks with his palms, pulling her closer to him, of course, to deepen the kiss. He walked her back into the glass door, to give him better leverage of the situation, and perhaps, to entrap her close to his body and keep her from running off. With both hands pressed on both sides of her against the hard surface, he broke the kiss and looked down at her. Her eyes were downcast, and she was gasping in air with an open mouth. He was somewhat breathless himself.

"For just a second," he hissed, his words a warm blast against her forehead, barely audible in the silence of the hall, "Forget about all of that crap. Forget about the Battle of the Bands, forget about the Barber Boys, and, god, especially, forget all about that bastard. Can you do that? For me?" After a moment, she nodded. He breathed a sigh of relief, "Okay. Look at me." Another pause, and then slowly she lifted her eyes to meet his own, "You once asked me if I would hate you for leaving the band, Summer," he said slowly, carefully, meekly, and surprisingly sincerely, "I wouldn't. I could never hate you, as much as you get on my nerves and annoy the hell out of me. All this time, I thought I was worried about you leaving the band…but the truth is…I'm worried about you leaving me. I don't want to lose you, Summer…not to that bastard, not to this stupid competition, and especially not to my stupid drunken idiot moments, and I know it's a stupid thing to think, because I never really had you and…I want you, Summer. Not as a manager, not as a friend…I want you as a girl that I really care about." He lowered his eyes, straightening and letting his arms drop to his sides. His face was red, and the heat had risen to his cheeks, but he persisted. He was, after all, on a roll, "I know I'm not perfect, and I know that I fuck everything up…but I…could try to be…perfect…I could try…to change…so that…"

"Freddy," Summer interrupted quietly, her hand coming to touch his cheek, and he raised his eyes to hers, "I don't want you to change. I want you the way you are…and…" she took a deep breath, blushing furiously, "And…if you really want me…then…you can have me." He nodded slowly, leaning forward to brush her lips. He began to lean forward, for another, when the clack of footfalls and the clearing of a throat, brought him to a halt.

"Shouldn't you two be in a class somewhere?" a firm brusque voice boomed. Wincing, and then taking a deep breath, Freddy turned with a disarming grin on his face. A large woman dressed in sweat pants and a hall monitors' green shirt emblazoned with Horace Green's crest stood before them. Her short curly brown hair neatly framed her pug face, and she was glowering menacingly down at the two teens, hands on hips.

"Miss Charlene," Freddy greeted, with as much cheer as he could muster, just barely catching a glimpse of Summer's mortified expression. Being caught in the hallways ditching class was already an embarrassment for the perfectionist class factotum, but being caught in the hallways ditching class to make-out with the renowned bad boy…that was a 'would-rather-die' type of thing, "Did you…uh…lose weight?" The hefty woman shifted, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes. Freddy quirked an eyebrow, "Gained weight?"

"Mister Jones, it's been awhile," Charlene sneered, just as mock pleasant as he was, "Took a PDA break, eh? I haven't caught you in the halls with any girls for a while…hm…" she looked over his shoulder to Summer, "A brunette? I thought this was blonde week."

"Oh…you think…" Freddy feigned naivety, looking between Summer and Charlene in badly acted shock, "Me and _her_? No, no way. We weren't…" he ran a hand over his head, "Ha, you actually think that…oh, uh…heh…we were…_us_? No way…we would never…we…that…is just…not right…and…" Charlene did not look impressed. She shifted and crossed her arms over her chest.

"I think you know where this is going," she said. He nodded, slumping his shoulders.

"Principle's office," he muttered, defeated, "Come on, Tink, let's go." He started down the hallway in his usual swagger, and Summer hesitantly hurried behind.

"And don't get any ideas, Jones," Charlene called after them, "I'll be checking in with Mullins later today."

Freddy shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring disgruntled to the tiled ground. They turned the corner, out of Charlene's vision, and fell in step side-by-side. Half-way to the office, he took Summer's hand, curious to see what holding it felt like. She didn't say anything, didn't move to pull away, and he smirked.

"So how many girls have you been caught in the hallways ditching class with ?" she finally questioned. He nearly tripped in his step.

"Uh…what?"

"How many girls have you been caught in the hallways ditching class with?" she repeated, sounding slightly peeved.

"Why do you need to worry about that?" Freddy questioned nervously, releasing her hand and coming to stand beside the office door.

"I'm not worried about anything," Summer insisted, though her face was pale and her tone said otherwise, "I'm just wondering is all…" She moved to open the door and he held it shut, leaning heavily against the hard wood.

"Did we…back there…did we hook up?" Freddy asked. The color flooded back to Summer's cheeks instantaneously.

"I don't know," she stammered, "Did we?"

"I've never had a girlfriend before, Summer…" Freddy started.

"You haven't?" she interrupted him in stun. He'd been with a great deal of girls, flirting in the halls, going out at night. She'd assumed. But as she thought about it, she realized, she'd never seen him with the same girl twice, never heard of him steadily dating anyone.

"No," he began again, sharply, "I've never had a girlfriend before and I've never really wanted one before and…well…and…I…I…I wouldn't mind trying…with you…but…"

"Oh," Summer mumbled, suddenly lightheaded, heart pounding. She hadn't thought of being his girlfriend, the idea was a bit strange, even scary, "But what?"

"I don't know if it'll work out…" he whispered, uncertainly. She frowned, nodding, feeling her heart sink. What was he trying to tell her? What did he want from her? Was he taking it all back? Everything he said? He reached forward, taking her hand and drawing her forward, "If it doesn't work out…it might effect the band…and…we can't go back…so…"

"Oh," she mouthed, "Then, what do you want to do?"

"I don't know," he murmured, then sheepishly, just above a whisper, "Be your boyfriend."

They startled away from one another when the door swung open, Freddy stumbling backwards and quickly regaining his balance. Miss Mullins stood stiffly in the doorway, looking curiously at them, surprised, and she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with a rigid index finger.

"Summer…Freddy…what are you two doing here?" she inquired pleasantly, then furrowing her brow, as she looked between the two flushed teens, "Shouldn't you be in class…?"

"Yeah," Freddy finally found his voice, "We're going right now, actually…" he turned to head back down the hallway, motioning for Summer to follow, when Miss Mullins cleared her throat.

"I was actually thinking…maybe we could talk," she said, "I have…actually…been meaning to speak to the both of you privately and…well…this saves time. Come in." She widened the door and ushered them in.

Shuffling, the two teens hesitantly entered the room . The office was equipped with two cushy chairs, a sofa, a desk, and a large plush leather swivel chair. Miss Mullins indicated that the teens should take a seat. Summer sat, straight backed in one of the cushy chairs, carefully folding her hands in her lap and crossing her legs at the ankle. Freddy plopped down on the sofa as through ready for a nap.

"Okay, Miss Mullins," Freddy announced, "What do you want from us?"

"Just to see how you're both doing. So, how are you both?" the older woman peered out at them with concern, lips pressed together.

"Fine," they both chirped, and were on their feet.

"Can we go now?" Freddy questioned, all too eager to leave the office.

"Well…I was hoping to chat with the both of you actually. Dewey's been telling me you two have been at odds a lot lately and…" Miss Mullins began and the two teens groaned inwardly, falling back to their seats, "Well, Freddy, you've been missing a lot of class, and Summer…you're teachers have told me they're a little concerned about you. You haven't looked well, and…where are your stockings?" she shook her head, and Summer blushed as Freddy glanced to her legs and noticed for the first time she was wearing socks, "I just wanted to know how things were going with you two? Summer, how are things at home?"

"Um…I got a scholarship," Summer answered, knowing from experience it made things less painful when you told the adults what they wanted to hear. She didn't notice how Freddy straightened, perking considerably and frowning, "My mother had gotten me contact with a man who was offering a scholarship…a Mr. Philbur…"

"Ah…yes…" Miss Mullins nodded, straightening her glasses, "I know of him."

"Well, he's awarded me the scholarship," Summer continued, "And well. I've simply been worried sick over the possibility of not receiving the scholarship, that I…well…let it slip into my academics at Horace Green, and I'm sorry that I worried anyone. It wasn't my intention. But now that I've received the scholarship, I'm quite certain that I'll be getting right back on track shortly."

"Oh, well that's good," Miss Mullins commented, smiling, then looking to the sofa, "Freddy?"

"I didn't get a scholarship," he spat, sinking back down, "And I highly doubt I'll be 'getting back on track', seeing as how skipping class and screwing around is my 'track'."

"Oh," Miss Mullin said quietly, taking a moment to straighten her blouse, "Freddy…so how are things at home?"

"Fine. Great. Splendid, actually."

"Alright…have you heard from your mother at all? Does she call often?"

Silence.

"Um…" Miss Mullins searched for something more, darting a glance Summer's direction. It was obvious she didn't want to get too personal into questioning Freddy's life with the young woman present. Summer thought for a moment about excusing herself, but as her eyes trailed over to the lounging blonde, she was rooted to her seat. From his expression, he didn't want to get too personal into his life, and Summer knew if she left, that's exactly where their principle would take the conversation.

"Miss Mullins," Summer spoke up, "I…wanted to speak to you…actually…about something…privately." Freddy glanced at her, and for a moment, they held each others' eyes. Understanding dawned on him, and he seemed a bit shocked. Was she really saving him from Miss Mullins interrogation?

"Of course, Summer," Miss Mullin replied, missing the exchanged look between the teens, "Freddy…if you don't mind…"

"Right," he smirked, pulling himself up and heading towards the door, "Later."

"Now, go straight to class," Miss Mullins called after him, though the door clicked shut before she even finished her sentence, "Oh…" she turned back to Summer, coming to lean against her desk, and smile motherly, "So, Summer…what did you hope to speak to me about."

"Miss Mullins," Summer started shakily. She hadn't really intended to speak to the principle about anything, just thinking of getting Freddy out of there as he looked completely miserable and ready for a shut down. But as she sat there in the room alone with the principle, she realized she did actually have a few things she needed to get off her chest with someone who knew her well enough, but wasn't in the band, "It's about the upcoming competition."

"Ah," Miss Mullins seemed to light up, "Of course, go ahead."

"There's just been so much going on in my head," Summer went on, "I know that I should be hoping for my friends to win, but…I feel so torn. I know that I don't want the Barber Boys to win…after my break-up with Kyle…but I'm still not certain if I want School of Rock to win."

"And why is that, Summer? This whole event has me confused. I've never known you to doubt anything, and now I hear you're having trouble deciding between managing two bands. Even considering leaving behind School of Rock and all your closest friends for a boy you've only recently met and…"

"It's not as simple as all that, Miss Mullins," Summer interrupted, "I've always had a great deal of…uncertainty…in my relationship with the band."

"Under appreciation," Miss Mullins guessed.

"Yes," Summer sighed, "But it's more than that…I don't feel like I'm a part of the group…and…I don't feel as though….well…if I weren't in the band, they wouldn't be friends with me. And how long will it be, before they get bored with being friends with me?"

"Oh," Miss Mullins murmured, stunned. She hadn't expected something like that from the usually overconfident young woman, "Summer, your friends care a great deal for you and…"

"I know all that, Miss Mullins. I've heard it from all of them. It's just…do they care a great deal for me, or do they care a great deal for their manager?"

"For you," Miss Mullins insisted, before coming to sit in the chair beside Summer, "Listen to me. Six years is a long time to work alongside the same people, to hang out with them, to eat lunch with them in school, study with them for class, to do everything with them, and not…get to know them. Don't you think they know you fairly well enough to know that they care about you and not the fact that you're their manager?"

"No," Summer pressed, "They don't know about my home life, they don't know about…my past, they don't know about…"

"Summer," Miss Mullins broke in, "Friendship…it's not about all of that. They understand you, Summer, in a way that no one else does. When you're sad, or mad, or upset in some way, aren't they always the first to know? And you don't even have to tell them? And aren't they always the first ones there to cheer you up? When you're happy, aren't they always there to be happy with you? Don't you always…"

"I know all of that, Miss Mullins," Summer cried, lifting herself to her feet and pacing, shaking her head, "But it wouldn't be the first time I was betrayed by a friend that I had all those things with…" she paused, lowering her eyes, "Oh…um…never mind. Forget I said anything..." She began towards the door in a haste, and Miss Mullins was on her feet.

"Summer," she called, and the young woman was brought to a halt, hand lingering on the doorknob, "I know it's hard, trusting people, when you don't know what's really in their thoughts and hearts. But pushing them away, and shutting them out is not the answer. You're so worried, Summer, about getting hurt, that you don't realize you're hurting so many other people."

"Thank you, Miss Mullins, but I really should get back to class," Summer replied rigidly, already feeling tears forming in her eyes. Miss Mullins nodded.

"The Battle of the Bands is days away, Summer. You're going, I assume?"

"Yes."

"Think about what I've said, and…I want you to know, I really don't approve of this method, Dewey's come up with. I know you feel like something of a trophy, but you'll have to try and see it from their perspective. In this way, they feel as though they have some control over the situation."

"I know, Miss Mullins," Summer whispered, "They don't want to _lose_ me."

"Um…right…" Miss Mullins mumbled, "Ah…I'll see you, then."

"Good day," Summer slipped out of the room, letting the door click shut behind her and was startled to find Freddy leaning against the wall, waiting. She lowered her eyes immediately, pursing her lips, "Were you eavesdropping?" she questioned lightly. The probability he could hear the conversation through the door was slim. Freddy shrugged, straightening and walking a few steps towards her.

"I was waiting for you," he said carefully, peering curiously out at her, then lowering his eyes to study the tile, "Uh…thanks."

"For?" Summer asked, feigning ignorance. She began walking down the hallway towards her class, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path, putting a hand lightly on her hip.

"Look," he started in a low voice, "My family's not something I like talking about…and…"

"You don't owe me an explanation," Summer insisted, face flushed as she was very aware of how close he was and how his hand felt through her clothing against her skin.

"Right," he whispered. They were quiet.

"I don't like talking about my family either," Summer finally told him, feeling as though she should. He smirked slightly, nodding.

"About what we were talking about…" he began, and Summer felt the blood rush through her veins. She pulled away, pushing by and he was startled by the motion.

"I don't think we should discuss it any further," she informed him quickly, tensely, "Until after Battle of the Bands." He frowned at her back.

"What? Why?" he demanded.

"Because…" she whispered, "It causes a conflict of interest."

"How's that?" Freddy pressed, raising his eyebrows.

"Because…" she turned to him with a steady gaze, "I still don't know if I want School of Rock to win." She then turned abruptly, marching pertly away. Freddy stood gaping, before his brow drew together and he shook his head, scowling. He slumped. That, of course, meant no making out would happen before the Battle of the Bands.

0-0-

Katie marched into Dewey's apartment, greeting the other musicians with her bright smile. She dropped her pack to the ground and came to lift out her bass and begin tuning it. Zack was already plucking at his guitar, his lyrics laid out before him as he messed around with different chord combinations. For a short while, he had a good lick going using the twelve-bar blues, but he faltered, and frowned at his notebook, pressing his tongue to his upper lip as he leaned forward with a pen and quickly scribbled something out. She smiled as he did have an adorable disposition when he was in 'musical genius' mode. Freddy was slumped on the couch trying to watch the muted TV, which was an indication that Dewey was somewhere in the apartment, probably the bathroom, with a hangover. Marta was seated next to Freddy, hands folded in her lap as she tried to include him in the conversation she was having with Alicia, who stood next to her blonde friend. Tomika was chatting with Lawrence. Every now and then, he would brush his hand against hers, as though he were deciding how badly he would be teased for holding it.

"If anyone would like to know," Katie declared, "I spoke to Summer after school." She gained a few glances, some more interested than others, before everyone resumed what they were doing.

"How is she?" Zack questioned, writing in a chord above his lyrics, then looking up at her with his thoughtful eyes. He was genuinely concerned, she could tell.

"She seemed fine. Just a little distant," Katie answered, with a shrug, "Do you think we're doing the right thing? Forcing this decision on her?"

"No," Zack answered without hesitation, and Katie was taken aback. She hadn't expected the answer, or the straightforwardness, "This is Dewey's idea, remember? But…you know, if we're ever going to start fixing things between us and her again, we need to get this whole 'decision' out of the way. We gotta know when to draw the line."

"Right," Katie chirped, "How's the songwriting coming along?"

"Great," Zack grinned. She moved to peek over the book and he slammed it shut, looking innocently to her, "It's not ready for a test run, yet. I still have to show it to Dewey and…yeah, you understand." Katie rolled her eyes as the bathroom door slammed open and Dewey struck a pose in the door way.

"The professor is here. Let's rock," he announced, before strutting out very dignified with a piece of toilet paper stuck to his shoe trailing behind him. The kids scrambled to their positions, as Dewey took the center floor, slipping his Gibson over his gut and strumming a few strings, carefully tuning it before letting out a wailing note. He slammed a hand over the strings to mute the noise, and pointed at Zack, "Okay, let's hear it Neil Diamond," he said, in an almost enthusiastic shout, "Rumor has it you have new material to show the group. Let me see, give it up." He held his hand out, motioning for Zack to hand the paper over.

Zack nodded, reluctantly passing over his beloved songbook. Dewey flipped through the pages, coming to stop on the last one, looking the newly scribbled lyrics over. A smile slowly made it's impish way across the older man's face. He was nodding his head, or banging it more likely, to some unheard rhythm. The others watched with bated breaths. Finally he looked up with devil's fury in his eyes, the true grimace of a rocker.

"Let's give this song a go," Dewey boomed, "Places, people, places." He paused, noting that they were already in place, eagerly awaiting the cue to begin practice, and cleared his throat, "Okay…show us the chords, Zack."

* * *

END A/N: I just couldn't get this chapter to come out. This was actually going to be a lot longer too...it didn't get to the place in the story that I wanted it to...simply because the place I wanted it to end at was so far away from the place it is at. That probably made no sense whatsoever. I didn't want the chapter to seem rushed, like I was skipping through the story. Now, as bad as I feel about this chapter being late. The next chapter is going to be late as well. I have a CIT exam and programs due Sunday at midnight (tomorrow at midnight, actually) that I haven't started on. And art appreciation homework to do. So, because of this, my fanfic writing time is severely sliced in half. After I am done with all my shit, however, I will try to get back to steady updates. That all depends on how motivated I am...I'm so fighting the urge to just rush the finish...because I know that you guys deserve better.

Another thing, apparently a few of you mistook the last chapter as me possibly stating I was writing a song for this. I didn't really have any plans to, but if anyone wants me to write a song for this story,I could try...I could even fill in a few chord combinations...maybe attempt writing a few licks...that would be fun...hm...I am learning the twelve-bar blues.

Anything else...anything else...oh! And when Zack said, "We gotta know when to draw the line", that's actually a reference to a rock song. Let's play a game! Tell me the song and the band that sings it! Any guesses?

Okay! Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors. Please _**REVIEW**_! (with your answer to the game)!

And...THANKS FOR READING! Peace.


	18. Best Friends Forever pt 2

A/N: Have to do this real quick, because I'm late for work. Okay, so I was browsing the SoR fandom the other day, and realized there was serious lack of Summer/Freddy fics. So I thought it was time to rectify that by, none other than, updating my fic! Yay! There are a shitload of reasons as to why I haven't updated this in so long, and I don't have time to tell all of you about all of that. So, I'm sorry, is all I'm going to say.

Thanks to all of the reviewers for last chapter, too many to count. I owe you a huge apology, too, sweetcaroline. I didn't mean to blow up at you about all of that. It wasn't entirely you that I was mad at. I was angry about a lot of other reviewers who were starting to piss me off, and then you posted that review and then updated your chapter at the same time, and I had tovent steam. It was wrong of me, and I hope you can forgive me.

ENJOY!

* * *

Chapter 18: Best Friends Forever part 2

Summer slumped forward on the cafeteria table as she watched the band talk in hushed whispers. She'd never felt so isolated from them. There they were, talking about things having to do with the band, and she couldn't be a part of it, because she wasn't technically a part of the band at the moment. She knew the Battle of the Bands was that night, and that the past week had left the band members in a frenzy trying to get everything perfect. For a moment, as she held a limp fry in her index finger and thumb, she wondered what it was all about. Were they really doing all of this for her? Or was it all just about beating the Barber Boys, stamping out pop with rock in an ultimate force de triumph.

She startled when an arm slunk over her shoulders and a warm body leaned heavily against her.

"You'll be at the Battle of the Bands, right?" Katie asked, close to Summer's ear. Summer shrugged.

"I suppose I should, right?"

"Definitely," Katie exclaimed, glancing at the other band members who were still chatting and discussing the upcoming gig, "We want you there."

Summer's eyes wandered to Freddy, who had just joined the table between Frankie and Lawrence. Aside from brief glances and "accidental" run-ins in the hallways, they hadn't really spoken to each other. He'd called her a few times, but always hung up on the second or even first ring, as though losing the nerve. She kind of wished she had the nerve to pick up the phone and talk with him when he called. She tried to picture what they would talk about. Maybe the upcoming Greenday concert. Or they might discuss the Backstreet Boys trying to make a comeback with scoffing comments, and mockery of pop culture entirely. She leaned her chin into the palm of her hand, swirling her ketchup with the french-fry and trying to shake those thoughts from her mind.

She heard giggling and her eyes snapped up at Marta who sat leaning across the table so that her focus was on Freddy as she spoke with him. He was smiling and nodding and suddenly Summer felt badly. The guilt swarmed when his eyes flickered to meet hers and a blush flowed across her cheeks. She immediately looked back down. He wanted to be her boyfriend, that's what he'd said.

"My life used to be so simple," Summer muttered, and Katie glanced her direction, humming question, "Go to school, go to band practice, the every-now-and-then gig, and homework. Why does everything have to be so complicated?"

"You _did _complicate things, princess," Zack murmured distractedly from across the table and Summer startled, flustered. She hadn't realized he'd been listening, or that anyone had been listening for that matter. She saw Katie from the corner of her eye shaking her head at Zack, but the boy was looking down at his notebook reviewing whatever was written down in it. "I mean, first you bring Kyle into the picture to disrupt our happy family. Then you bring up the prospect of you wanting to leave under the alleged reasoning that you feel underappreciated, which we've already determined isn't the real cause. And even now that Kyle's out of the picture, you're still pushing forward with this stupid Battle of the Bands thing. Do you really want to manage your ex-boyfriend's singing group?"

"Uh…what?" Summer stammered, furrowing her brow at him and trying to get her brain to keep up with what he was saying. He glanced up, meeting her eyes, his own shadowed over with dark seriousness for a moment. Then, suddenly, a smile spread across his face, though his eyes remained with that somber undertone.

"It's alright," he said lightly, eyes holding her captivated, "We still love you though."

The bell rang, shaking through the cafeteria at almost the exact same moment Summer's heart gave a heavy thud against her ribcage, so that it felt as though her heart beat jolted through her entire body. The other students around her scrambled to their feet, gathering their things to shuffle to their classes, and she remained sitting, her eyes wide and unfocused.

What had that been about? It was almost as though Zack were trying to tell her something, but he didn't want to or couldn't come right out and say it.

"You coming, Summer?" Michelle called from behind her, and she turned slightly to eye the blonde waiting impatiently with Eleni. Katie stood by the cafeteria exit waiting for Summer as well, staring questioningly. Summer scooted from the table bench and walked carefully towards them, heart still pounding.

She walked beside her three friends as they broke into chit-chat about some "totally hot" boy in their next class. She partially listened, but couldn't shake the feelings and emotions wracking her brain. _We still love you_.

Over the time waiting for the Battle of the Bands to approach, Summer had tried to maintain her strained friendship with the band mates, but it didn't change how much like a third-wheel she felt around all of them at every moment of the day. Kyle called her constantly, but she didn't want to speak to him, and of course, she avoided him in the halls. She walked everywhere with Katie, or any of the other girls in the band. Once she had been desperate, lagging with Frankie and Leonard, who didn't seem to mind her company too much. She just didn't want to be caught alone and off-guard with Kyle, and she knew he wouldn't approach her if she was with the School of Rock members.

She avoided Marta as well.

She thought about what would happen if she and Freddy were to date, though just the idea turned her face beet red. How would Marta react she wondered. How would everyone in the band react? She knew Katie would be happy for them, Zack probably wouldn't mind too much. Michelle and Eleni would claim they saw it coming all along, probably squeal and giggle whenever Summer and Freddy would be in the same room. The boys would all be unanimous, almost, in the weirdness of it all. They would try to pretend they didn't care, maybe even joke around with Freddy about it, but they would all hate it probably. They'd be immature about it. Except maybe Lawrence, who would probably strongly disapprove, as he didn't think too highly of the way Freddy managed his love life. And then Billy would try to pretend to be happy, but he'd put on a drama queen hissy fit whenever they were around, because he was alone and bitter. Tomika might be happy as well. Dewey wouldn't like the inter-band relationship, but he would steal every chance he had to make fun of them with the other guys and wouldn't feel right about putting his foot down on the relationship.

But Marta would be furious. Marta didn't develop passing crushes. She didn't experience "puppy love". She wasn't fickle and she never did anything half-heartedly. When she liked a boy, she liked him entirely, with her whole heart. She fell head-over-heels madly in love with him, and she didn't back down. And the feeling, strong as it was, never ever fully faded from her heart. Admitting her feelings for Freddy at the mall had been the equivalent of "staking her claim", calling dibs, or something like it. Every girl in the band, or that was present, was supposed to rally to her cause and support her in her attempts to gain the drummer's attention. Summer realized, with a lump in her stomach, if she and Freddy were to date, that would be an ultimate betrayal. That it would alienate the blonde, and perhaps all the girls in the band. She shuddered at the thought of crossing Alicia, Marta's best friend. The "spunky" former brace face was tough, and could be quite frightening when angered.

But Summer didn't fall lightly either. In fact, Freddy was the first boy she'd ever felt this way for. She was beginning to wonder if falling in love was worth it. But remembering his touch, his lips against her own, the way he held her in his arms as though she were the only girl in the world, she knew with every fiber of her being that it was. She wondered if he would still feel the same way after the Battle of the Bands.

Her heart wrenched at the fear that he wouldn't.

_Be your boyfriend._ Everything inside of Summer had threatened to fall apart. Every fortitude against the abrasive emotions of others and herself that she had spent years building around her heart had threatened to tumble, to shatter, at those words. She'd almost lost all will to fight him, and she hated that vulnerable feeling as much as she desired and desperately needed to feel it again.

"Summer?" Michelle's voice broke through her thoughts, and she startled, looking up to meet the sparkling eyes of her friend, "You alright? You look really flushed…do you feel okay?"

"Yeah," Summer mumbled, bringing her hand up to touch her heated cheek, "Yeah, I'm fine. I'm just…I'm fine."

Michelle paused, seeing something through the crowd, and the other girls looked questioningly to her. She smiled quietly to herself.

"I…um…forgot something at my locker," she told them unconvincingly, "I'll meet you guys at class." Before anyone could open their mouths to rebuke, she was weaving through the crowd, leaving them behind. Eleni sighed, and Katie rolled her eyes.

"Frankie," they muttered together, and Summer couldn't help but giggle with the other two as they continued down the hall and slipped into their classroom. Summer slunk into her usual desk at the front of the room, as Katie and Eleni took their seats around her. She lowered her eyes to her desk as she saw Kyle, with a few of his basketball buddies, waltz in. He walked past her desk, going out of his way to brush her shoulder gently with his body and she frowned, growing cold against the touch.

Over the days, as her feelings for Freddy grew, she also found disgust slowly welling in the pit of her stomach for her former boyfriend. The way he seemed to focus so much anger and hate towards the carefree drummer, the way he sauntered about the school as though he were top dog, the way he stared longingly at her. She shuddered at his touch and almost immediately her thoughts flew to Freddy and she blushed, forcing her mind on the desk in front of her and pulling out her books. She could feel Kyle's eyes on her and hoped he didn't think that blush was for him.

-0-0-

Michelle walked in slow, casual movements towards the wall of lockers. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and attempted her usual confidant smile, as her eyes never left that bulky form leaning awkwardly against her locker and watching her nonchalantly from the corner of his eyes. She flustered as she thought of how attractive he looked in the school uniform, his jacket discarded, his sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone. He was tall, and large, though his body mass was more muscle than fat. She loved when he wrapped her in his big bear hugs, the way he gently brushed his hand in the small of her back, and held her protectively. His hair was mussed, and she thought momentarily about fixing it with her delicate fingers as they talked.

With every step she took towards him, Michelle grew more self-conscious, more anxious. Other boys were easy. She could smile and flirt and never think twice about it because she knew they were mad about her long silken legs and flowing blonde hair. With one bat of her beautiful blue eyes, they melted in her hands, putty for her to mold. But with Frankie it was different. It had always been different. She couldn't use her usual tricks on him, she'd tried, and he'd scoffed disgustedly at her attempts. He told her later that he'd always thought there was something deeper to her, that she was capable of holding a person's attention with more than her usual superficial wiles. That he could see that she was far more intelligent than that. They had spent late nights, talking on the phone about books and literature, art and philosophy, things that people wouldn't guess Frankie knew anything in the slightest about looking at him. He was the only boy she couldn't fool, and the only one who's opinion of her mattered.

"Hey," Frankie greeted, shoving his hands uncomfortably in his pockets. While they could talk so easily on the phone, face-to-face, Frankie became shy, stumbling on his words and fidgeting. Michelle tugged her skirt down, suddenly aware of how short it must seem, as she'd rolled it up before school started. Now she found herself worrying that Frankie might find it too tacky.

"Hi," she returned, smiling sheepishly, "Did you want something…?"

"Uh…um…nope," Frankie stammered, straightening and lowering his eyes to focus on his shoes, "Why?"

"Well…" Michelle pointed out, "You're standing by my locker…"

"Oh," Frankie jumped nearly three feet away from the wall of lockers, staring at them as though they had burned him, "I…uh…guess I am…"

Michelle stepped forward, her eyes watching him with suspicion as she carefully began opening her locker. Frankie looked as though he were dying from desperation. He was torn between wanting to run and being completely unable to move. Michelle opened the locker door and a small slip of paper flittered out, falling gracefully to the ground. She let out a small gasp and knelt carefully to pluck it from the ground and scan it. She turned leaning against the lockers and pushing her hair behind her ears as she mouthed the words written in shaky calligraphy, a poem speaking of beautiful eyes like waterfalls, tumultuous swirls of a deep inner soul, laughter like an angel, and a smile like Mona Lisa, holding a secret between perfectly pursed lips.

"It's beautiful," Michelle whispered, raising her eyes to look into Frankie's anxious face. She held the paper to her chest, pressing her lips together and staring at him through her lashes, "They always are…" she took a deep breath, pressing her hand firmly to her rapidly beating heart, as she knew she was taking a giant leap, "I just…well…wish you'd give them to me in person."

"Uh…well…I…" Frankie mumbled, then lowering his eyes and shifting his weight, "I thought it would be weird…um…me…giving you poems and everything…I just thought you'd think that…"

"I wouldn't think it was weird," Michelle told him quietly, reaching forward to carefully take his hand in her own, "If it was…well…a boyfriend giving his girlfriend poems…"

Frankie's eyes snapped up, meeting hers questioningly and she smiled despite herself. He seemed confused for a moment, trying to figure out what she was saying, and he seemed to be asking her if she meant what he thought. She nodded confirmation and slowly, a smile slid along his face as well. He stepped forward, carefully, cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, and hesitantly, brushed his lips against hers. She leaned against his chest, curling her fingers between the buttons of his shirt, and when they broke apart, faces flushed, and bodies overwhelmed with warmth, they looked up into each others faces.

"Can I…um…walk you to class?" Frankie asked, and Michelle nodded. He took her books from her hands and she closed her locker as they walked dizzily down the hall, fingers intertwined.

-0-0-

Summer sighed, shivering and tightening her grasp on the plastic trash bag as she made her way from her house to the curb, the night air pressing against her. She lifted the lid of the tin can and dumped the bag in unceremoniously. She frowned, glancing at her watch. Battle of the Bands was in another hour. She hadn't spoken with anyone about getting a ride and now she was beginning to wonder if she should even go. She didn't think she could stand the suspense. Or more precisely, the lack of. In the previous years, she'd always gone with the determination that School of Rock win. Backstage she would cheer her brains out, squealing like a teeny bopper on steroids when they announced School of Rock as the winner. Now, she wouldn't know when to be excited, who to cheer for. Part of her hoped some new band, impartial to their little competition, would win. Or a band that entered often and came on full force that night with new material would blow School of Rock and the Barber Boys out of the water.

But Summer knew, that wasn't happening. She'd seen the competition, most of which was shoddy, in lyrics or musical direction. They just didn't have Dewey like School of Rock did. And the Barber Boys were freshly equipped with a big name record label behind them. Professionals wrote all their music and lyrics. Summer frowned, staring prudently at the trash can in front of her. She dreaded the idea of entering that house and asking her mother for a ride to the Battle of the Bands. After the lunch with Mr. Philbur, the older Hathaway woman had eased up considerably on her daughter, but there was still a great deal of tension there. And winning the scholarship on her own terms hadn't really gone over well with Summer's mother.

So instead, Summer walked along the sidewalk. She paused momentarily at the electrical conduit, flushed, remembering when Freddy had sat there with her. She touched a tentative finger to her bottom lip. She admittedly missed his kiss. But not as much as their usual banter. She missed the chat she used to have with all the band members. Sure, they chatted now…now that they were all on seemingly good terms once again, but it wasn't the same. There was a tenseness in it. It was as though both parties were holding back. There was an uncertainty to their conversations, an unfamiliarity.

Summer startled from her musings. She was in front of the Fuller house now. And she wasn't certain, but it felt as though the air were twenty degrees colder there. She froze when she heard the sound of someone approaching. Quirking her head, Summer recognized Rachel's figure and glossy red hair. The other girl was carefully making her way down the pathway from the Fuller house. She paused upon seeing Summer. For a moment, they held each others eyes, like deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle. Summer thought about turning and walking back home, locking herself in her room and forgetting this sudden encounter.

There was something about seeing Rachel, something about whenever she saw Rachel, that caused a great deal of pain to wash over her. The memories she'd shared with the redhead, the times when she'd laughed and joked with that other girl. When she'd thought they were friends. It made her shake, tears threatened to fall. She would become a quivering child. Nothing like the Summer Hathaway those at Horace Green knew.

Rachel began forward again, and Summer seemed glued to her spot on the cement. She begged and pleaded with her legs to move, to head back to her house, but they weren't listening or simply didn't care. Rachel stopped at the edge of the Fuller lawn in front of Summer, she crossed her arms over her chest and gave Summer a once over. Summer lowered her eyes, immediately. She didn't want the redhead to see the mortification in her overly emotional eyes. Rachel folded her arms over her chest.

"We haven't talked in a long time," Rachel said carefully, and Summer's body tensed. She peeked up at the other girl.

"I suppose you're not counting all those times you insulted me and addressed me as you would a piece of dirt on the bottom of your shoe," Summer retorted carefully. The clever remark caught noticeably in her throat. Rachel lowered her eyes, and Summer thought she saw shame cross the other girl's face.

"We've gotten so far away from one another. We used to be so close."

"Whose choice was that," Summer replied bitterly. Rachel flinched involuntarily, she licked her lips, and shoved her hands into her pockets.

"I've done some awful things," Rachel continued, "I thought I wanted to be popular…that I wanted to hang out with all those people that used to treat us both like some viral disease. God, Summer, I haven't been happy since our friendship ended."

Summer stared unblinkingly at Rachel, who hung her head in seeming shame. Was she really hearing right? Was Rachel really saying these things? Have you been happy since that friendship ended, Summer asked herself. Have you ever been able to shake that lingering feeling, that you'd never have a friend who understood you as Rachel seemed to? Summer chewed her lower lip.

"The other day, when I saw Allison trying to use you like that," Rachel went on, "I realized, that she was using me the same way. I mean, I knew she was using me…I just didn't realize what that meant until I saw her trying to use you. I guess it sort of…bugged me. Because I thought there was nothing worse than the way she used people, and I didn't want her to start using you like that. When I saw how you resisted it though…like it was nothing…"

"It was nothing," Summer interjected, "You think I could really forget the way Allison's treated me over the years? I could never want that kind of friendship."

"I don't want it anymore either," Rachel admitted, "I miss you, Summer. A part of me still thinks of you as my best friend. Allison could never replace you. I just…I was never strong enough to rise above it the way that you did. I had to get her to stop treating me that way…I guess I used you, the way I didn't want Allison to. It really hurt me, though, all those times I treated you so badly. I thought I had to, but now I realize, I was hurting the only real friend I ever had."

Summer stared in stun. It was all the things she'd dreamed Rachel would say to her. All the things she'd wanted to hear from the redhead for the longest time. She'd lie awake fantasizing about this moment, when Rachel would spill all of these feelings out, and then Summer daydreamed she would shoot her down. "I don't need your friendship," she would say. But now, finally hearing all of it, something cracked inside Summer. Tears slowly began spilling down her cheeks and she smiled. She couldn't treat Rachel that way. She couldn't be that cruel.

"I miss you too, Rachel," Summer murmured.

"I want to start over," Rachel said, smiling to the other girl, "I want to be best friends again."

"I want to start over too," Summer exclaimed, "I'd always wanted to start over, to get back where we'd come from. I'd never had a friend like you again. I could never get close to anyone the way I was with you."

Rachel bit the corner of her lower lip, leaning forward to embrace Summer. Summer returned the hug, squeezing her eyes shut. This was all unexpected, but her heart was pounding mercilessly in her chest. She hadn't felt so happy in the past week.

When Rachel pulled away, she was smiling something devious. Summer frowned somewhat, furrowing her brow. She looked down, following Rachel's eyes to her chest, her lips parting. There was a sign that was taped to the front of her blouse, with a picture of the young Soleil Moon Frye, in pigtails and a bright smile. The words: 'Punky's been Punk'd' were typed underneath it. She looked questioningly to Rachel, seeing Allison coming out from behind the Fuller's tree, where she'd hiding in the shadows, a camcorder in hand. Both girls were laughing cruelly.

"That was classic. Such a touching reunion of friends! _Everybody _will get such a kick out of this," Allison was crowing, coming to stand behind Rachel. She still held the camcorder up, the viewfinder focused on Summer. Allison donned a mocking, high-pitched, nasally voice, "_Oh, I miss you too! I want to start over. You're my best friend._"

Summer took a few steps back, shaking her head as the girls broke into laughter again. You should have known better, she told herself, you deserve this. You let yourself get played again. You let her lead you on, let her treat you this way. You fell for her act again, and this is only what you asked for. It's your own fault for being such a fool. She pressed her lips together, fighting the tears of embarrassment threatening to fall.

_We are best friends, aren't we?_

_Yeah, Summer. We are._

Red flashed over Summer's eyes. Rage quickly replacing the embarrassment. Frustration, anger. I don't deserve this. Before any of the three girls knew what had happened, Summer's hand cracked against Rachel's cheek. The redhead grabbed hold of it, turning wide-eyed to Summer and Allison's laughter died. She lowered the camcorder slightly, but it still focused on Summer and Rachel. Rachel slowly began lowering her hand, her jaw dropped open, and Summer's hand slapped once more across the already raw spot on the redhead's jaw line. Neither Allison nor Rachel had ever seen the other girl so enraged. They didn't know this side of the small girl and they didn't know how to react to it.

"You must think you're so clever, Rachel," Summer seethed, ripping the sign from her shirt, crumpling it, and tossing it at the redhead who flinched back in surprise as it bounced harmless off her shoulder, "You know, for the longest time, I thought there must have been something terribly wrong with me. Some reason you would betray me the way that you did, when I'd thought we'd had such a great friendship. Then I thought, maybe you'd never been my friend. From the very beginning, you were never my friend, and I _blamed myself_. I thought it was my fault, that I was incapable of making friends, that no one could ever truly want to be my friend.

"But as I look at you now, I realize how pathetic you really are. You used me. You're so determined to make it to popularity, you don't care who you have to step on to get there. You're so determined to be little miss perfect. You want to be adored and admired. You shut yourself off from people and maybe you'll never be able to let anyone in. You're a cold hearted bitch, stepping on people all the way to the top and…" Summer shook her head, realization slowly enveloping her, "And…I've spent so long trying not to get hurt by someone like you again…that I've become you.

"But you know what, I'm different than you. Because unlike your superficial friendships with Allison and Jeff and everyone else from school, I have real friends. I have people who care about me, love me, actually listen when I talk to them. They actually want me around, not because I make them look good. They love me for who I am…who I _really_ am. Can you honestly say that Allison ever listens to you the way that I ever did?" Summer looked sadly at Rachel, "I've hurt so many people because of you. I've pushed away all my friends…because I was too blinded by what you did to me. By how you betrayed me. I thought they were like you, I thought everyone was like you. I didn't see, that they cared about me and loved me for who I was."

"Really," Rachel sneered, finally breaking from her stun, hand clutching her injured cheek, and fire burning in her eyes, "Then where are your _real friends _now? A Friday night and you're all by yourself, as usu-" She was cut off by the sound of Deep Purple blasting Smoke on the Water through the night air, the roar of an engine tearing onto the cul-de-sac, and then the squeal of tires breaking against the pavement.

"What the hell is that…?" Allison gaped, her camcorder falling to her side. Rachel raised her eyes in surprise at the intruding vehicle and Summer slowly turned, a smile working its way on her face as she knew only one person who drove like that with classic rock pounding from the speakers.

She recognized the car immediately, the old red junker, her smile broadening into a grin. The old convertible's top was pulled down, and she quickly noted Katie and Zack in the front seat, Tomika and Lawrence in the back. Katie put the car in park in front of the Hathaway's humble abode, and Zack was turned blanche her direction.

"Are you _trying_ to kill us?" he demanded.

"I would like to have a word with the DMV personnel that granted you a license," Lawrence agreed, his voice a quiet and uneven quiver.

"…Austin hangs out with weird ones," Allison was murmuring to Rachel, but stopped when Tomika leaned out against the car door, looking to Summer.

"Hey, girl," she called, smiling her beautiful toothy smile. Summer was making her way over in tentative steps. The others in the car turned her direction, Katie leaning over the car door as well and Zack attempted to stand someone in his seat to see over Katie's head. Lawrence peered over Tomika's shoulder, smiling softly.

"Tink," Katie cried, then warily looking at the girls over Summer's shoulder, "Those chicks giving you a hard time? I will mess them up for you, just say the word, and they are roadkill!"

"You guys, what are you doing here?" Summer finally questioned, finding her voice out of her elation to see her friends, "You should all be at the amphitheater, Battle of the Bands starts in less than half-an-hour."

"Duh," Zack muttered, "That's why we all panicked when we realized you hadn't gotten there yet!"

"We've been calling your cell phone the past twenty minutes," Tomika explained, "When you didn't pick up, we decided to come here and find out what was up!"

"We thought maybe something horrible had happened," Katie put in, "You not answering your cellphone is one thing…but not being punctual on your arrival to the theater! We knew something was up!"

"Well…I'm glad you're all here," Summer told them, coming to stop a few feet from the car, and folding her hands in front of her, she cleared her throat, "I owe everyone an apology for the past few weeks. I've been completely out of it, and treating you all so badly for something none of you did. I was upset because a long time ago, the only friend I had betrayed me, and it really messed me up inside. But now I know that you're all the best friends I've ever had and…"

Katie looked to Zack, pointing to Summer and he nodded in understanding. He lightly slapped Lawrence's shoulder as he leapt over the car door and headed over towards Summer, still giving her apology speech. Lawrence carefully opened the door, crossing over to join Zack. Lawrence bowed apologetically to the petite girl, who, still speaking, looked questioningly at him. And then, without warning, both boys lifted her from the ground. She squirmed in startle, giving a cry, and Allison and Rachel, who had been watching with uncertainty, raised brows in surprise.

"What are you guys doing?" Summer demanded. Zack grinned at her as they carried her to the car.

"Just keep going," he told her, "You were at the part where you realized you were very wrong, you're very sorry, that you love infinitely and now know that we all love you infinitely…go on from there…" Summer swallowed, flustered.

"Well…I'm very sorry, and I hope you can all forgive me. I love all of you and…" They dumped here in the front seat, leaping in the back, "Ow…"

"I'm sorry," Lawrence murmured.

"And?" Katie prompted.

"Oh…and…um…I want to continue managing School of Rock. I never really wanted to leave you guys. It's just that my mother and…everything…but I'm a sixteen year old girl. I should do what makes me happy now, not what furthers my career." She looked back to Zack, who was blushing somewhat at that, "You helped me realize that."

"We're so happy to have you back," Tomika squealed, leaning over the chair and squeezing the petite girl, pressing a light kiss to her cheek, "And of course we forgive you." The others quickly piped agreement.

"And I'm sure the rest of the band will feel the same when you give them that speech," Katie assured her.

"Thanks guys."

"Now," Katie revved the engine, "Let's get to the amphitheater and kick some Barber Boy ass!"

"Sounds good to me," Summer grinned.

"Now we need some tunes to match our mood," Zack suggested, "And I think Summer should decide what we listen to."

"Well…" Summer blushed, sinking a bit in her seat, "I haven't let the Led out in awhile…" Zack pumped his fist in the air, mouthing a 'yes' as Katie put the music in.

"Have I ever told you you're my favorite manager?" he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pecking her lightly on the cheek. She shook her head at him.

"I'm you're only manager," she reminded him. He grinned.

"And let's keep it that way."

Katie roared down the street, Allison and Rachel watching speechlessly.

* * *

END A/N: Okay, now I have to get to work, because I'm supposed to be there right now. Anyways, I'm going to focus on finishing this story within the next month or so. But as it's finals week, I don't know how long it'll take. There's about..two more chapters left.

Please excuse any grammatical and typing errors (I didn't proofread), and Please _**REVIEW**_!

Thanks for reading.


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